Drink Me
by Cloverfield
Summary: And just like that, you realise the world does not stop for those few moments you had; it goes on turning, regardless of whether you are ready for it to. Setsuna. Konoka. Asuna. RealWorld!AU. Complete.
1. Just Setsuna

**DISCLAIMER**: Negima is not mine. If it were, there would be a student exchange plan featuring the girls of Ichigo-sha...

**PREFACE: **Place blame for this firmly upon the shoulders of Yurivision, my girlfriend and an eternal frustration with canon pairings that don't want to go anywhere.

KonoSetsu. You have been warned. Citric. You have been warned again. Multiparter. You have been warned a third time.

* * *

**Part I: Just Setsuna.**

* * *

I have to wonder that if she had known it wasn't Just Setsuna at the door whether she would have bothered to dress before opening it. But because it's Just Setsuna, she doesn't, and she's still shower-damp.

I can smell her soap.

I have no idea where Kagurazaka is, and I know I'm only wondering about her absence because she is wearing nothing but a towel and it is getting to me. My heart is already lodged in my stomach; I don't want it to go any lower, and I can feel it slipping, second by second.

Come in, she says, with bright brown eyes, and it slides down further.

Her towel is an inch too short to be considered decent by micro-mini standards, and I can see the swell and curve of her thigh as she walks.

A bead of water slips down her skin, past the hollow of her knee, and trembles on her calf. I want to lick it off. I don't.

I'm still standing in her doorway. She's still waiting for me to come in, with that cute quizzical pout-frown I've seen her wear when she doesn't understand something.

I don't want to come inside, and I know that's a lie, but I can't help it.

She's not helping either.

* * *

"I brought your textbook. Thanks for lending it." 

"How'd you go on the microbiol exam anyway? I thought it was a little tricky, 'specially that question on mitochondrial ratio."

She's talking about lectures and slides and professors and tutors and I'm only half listening because her back is to me and she's fastening her bra.

Her back is smooth, and slightly freckled. She's still talking.

My eyes flick to the photoboard on the kitchenette wall, push-pinned memories of a childhood I was only a small part of. By my own devices, no less.

She turns around, and she's dressed now, and this is no relief because I know what she looks like naked, know it, want it, have it seared into me through an accident involving a missing hairbrush, an unlocked bathroom door and a shower curtain left in the washing machine.

She sits on the bench, feet dangling against a never-used stool and offers me tea.

I accept. There is silence and it is awkward and makes me feel guilty because I can still see her daisy-print panties as she pulled on her jeans.

I want her. She has to know, it's so obvious, and it's why I moved out of our shared apartment in the first place.

"How's life in the dorms? Crowded?"

"A little, but I spend most of my time down at the library, so I don't notice it so much."

Kagurazaka still resents me for leaving, and most likely because they now split the extra bills and rent I paid between them, and I know she can barely afford that on her part-time wages.

It doesn't matter that Konoka is rich, old rich, and could've and would've paid all our bills and then some three times over- Bells has always been an independent, fire-cracker of a girl. By her own hand or none. I admire the sentiment, and her skill at kickboxing, but it still doesn't stop her glaring at me in the classes we share.

She knows why I left, and thinks I'm a coward for not saying anything. I agree with her, but I'm practical and well aware that the likes of Konoe Konoka are beyond me.

There's more silence, but only on my part. My tea goes cold, and she goes on about the net-idol craze sweeping the IT students and how Nodoka's internship at the library's going well.

Her brown hair swings damply back and forth, clinging to the wet shoulders of her shirt.

I read the words. She notices me looking, and grins.

"D'you like it? It's part of Haruna's new manga exhibition. She's using the works of Lewis Carroll, and well, she knows I've always liked the books. 'Through the Looking Glass'. It's on at the student art gallery. You should go see it."

A glass bottle jumps up and down on pink cotton, waving small, cartoony arms, pleading people to take a sip, label fluttering madly.

Something clicks in my head. My fingers twitch. She notices, and I don't care.

I don't just want a sip, I want the whole damn bottle.

"Setsuna?"

She says my name, and I want to drink her down, drink her up, drink her dry. I want to suck the water from her skin, as it trickles in damp patches down her still-clothed back. I want to slurp her up, messy and noisy and feel those dainty little hands scrunch in my hair.

My mouth is dry, my lips chapped. I swallow my own saliva, and it does nothing but make me thirsty. Thirstier.

I want to know if she tastes as good as she looks.

"You alright? You just spaced out for a second there-"

She's standing over me, hands on the table, and then, quite suddenly, she's not. I have a lapful of warm flesh, my hands cupping that cute ass that always drove me to distraction every time I saw her in her work skirt for her part time job at the law firm. Her legs are splayed around me, and she squeaks when I kiss her.

It's nothing like how they describe kisses in books, or movies, or French art films where everything is done in metaphor.

It's real, and wet, and she tastes like toothpaste and bitter tea and crumpets with honey. And it is unsatisfying. Very unsatisfying.

Just a sip, and I'm thirstier than before.

I want more. She pulls back, gasps, and I pull her down again. One hand snakes up her back.

Her skin is cool and damp and trembles where I touch her. Her bra clasp comes undone far too easily, and I know, I know, I KNOW this is a bad idea, that I've shown the only girl who beat Nakase's Poker Champion Program all my cards, but I don't want to stop.

I could. I could let go, put her down, stop myself from drowning in her. I could.

I'm lying and it bothers me, so I stop.

My fingers brush her breast, just lightly, slipping into the space between fabric and wire and skin.

She squeaks again, and jumps, just a little.

I'm Just Setsuna, always have been Just Setsuna, and I'm just pulling her screen-printed shirt over her head.

Her head tips back. Her eyes are closed. We slide onto the floor and the cheap linoleum is very chill and clammy.

She murmurs something indistinct as I lean over her and chase my tongue down her throat, past the hollow of her collarbone, and lower, lower.

She has a small mole below her left breast. I press a small kiss there, and I can still taste the chemical tang from her soap. I scrape my teeth, just gently, against goosebumped skin.

She jolts, and her head lolls back onto the masses of her wet hair, pooling behind her head on the floor.

I wonder if she knows what she's doing, and who she's doing it with.

Something vicious shudders through me, and I suddenly don't care. I've been Just Setsuna for far too long.

She wants this, I know she does, my fingers hooking into the waistband of her jeans and she moans.

I savour the sound, the warmth of her skin and the whisper of cloth and denim as I slide jeans and panties down in one slow movement.

I try to tell myself it doesn't matter if she doesn't want me.

I'm lying again. But I don't stop.

* * *

I drink my fill of her, of her sweat, of her still-wet skin, of the softness of her inner thigh against my cheek. Her taste. The stickiness of my fingers and the floor beneath us. 

Her shuddering body against mine.

I drink my fill, and yet I don't, that damned shirt mocking me as it lies crumpled on the floor, pillowing her head as she cries out again.

I could never, never drink enough and it kills me.

We slow, and stop, and shiver together, clothed and unclothed, her fists clenching and unclenching in my shirt. Unlike hers, it's plain, unprinted and a bland shade of white.

I roll onto my back. I'm crying, and I don't like it. The curtain flaps idly at the screen door, leading to the little balcony where we once sat and watched the fireworks during the festival.

Her textbook lies forgotten behind us, wide open and pages flipping in the light breeze. The girls at the library'd have my head to see me leave a book like that.

I'm thinking, desperately, of anything but the woman shaking next to me.

I don't want to think about her. I don't want to think about how good it felt and how I still want her, and that having her once will never be enough.

There is silence, and it is not just awkward, it is almost painful.

The kitchen tap drips, _plink plink plink_.

"I don't understand why you left," she whispers.

I stand up. I straighten my clothes. I leave.

I don't look back, and she calls out after me, naked and splay-legged on the lounge/dining/living room floor of her tiny, shared apartment.

She sobs my name. It cuts me like a sword.

Just Setsuna doesn't look back.

* * *

_She opens the door, half-asleep and barefoot on a cold winter night. She'd heard voices, and as Asuna's too chicken, she grabs a tennis racquet and yanks it open. _

_Two people break apart, and there is a hasty adjustment of clothes. Lipgloss is smeared across the cheek of a boy she doesn't know, can't see his face, and it doesn't matter, because she isn't looking at him, she's looking at her, tugging her jacket closed. _

_She stops, and laughs, and she can smell alcohol. _

_"Oh, I wouldn't worry, Takeshi. It's just Setsuna, my roommate. What're you doing up so late anyway?" _

_Konoka doesn't wait for an answer, but blows a kiss to whoever-the-hell Takeshi is, trips over the doorstep and stumbles to her room. _

_Just Setsuna feels pain, but doesn't say anything, and no one notices. _

_She shuts the door and goes back to bed. She won't go to sleep for some time. _

* * *

**ENDNOTE:** Because not all Yuri is happy all the time. 

No flaming Takeshi- he's a plot device and therefore defenceless.

Reviews make me write faster.

:nudges reader towards button:


	2. Fighting Asuna

**DISCLAIMER**: Negima is not mine. If it were, there would be a student exchange plan featuring the girls of Ichigo-sha...

**PREFACE: **yet more blame to be heaped upon my girl's shoulders, courtesy of her first words upon reading the last part- "Good. More. MoremoremoremoreMORE. NOW.", regardless of the fact that it was dark and I wanted my dinner...

Still blaming yurivision. Dammit, we shouldn't have come second! KonoSetsu, FTW!

Also blaming my vast amounts of free time since contracting the dreaded lurgy (read: influenza) and my girl going back to uni. Sniffle.

Late postage blamed on the fact my modem DIED. Yes. It fried itself during a thunderstorm. But I have a shiny new one now!

KonoSetsu. You have been warned. Citric. You have been warned again. Multiparter. You have been warned a third time.

* * *

**Part II: Fighting Asuna**

* * *

_It was just like the British exchange student had said: there's somebody for everybody._

_Admittedly, she'd been paying more attention to the ferret at the time –he had stolen her clean washing after all, and no male, even if it was an animal-male, should be playing around with Kagurazaka Asuna's underwear- but it made sense, later, after he had gone and she was listening to the two of them laugh over a so-pathetic-it's-funny horror movie they'd rented from the store._

_Even if they couldn't see the red string, she most certainly could, and it wasn't just tying them together, fingertip to fingertip; in her mind, she could see them suspended from a branch in a scarlet, beribboned cocoon, wrapped and bound and so completely, hopelessly tangled in each other that there was no hope of escape, if either of them had ever wanted there to be one._

* * *

She doesn't want to talk about the bra that's hanging off the chair, and neither do I, so it's just sitting there, looking pink and lacy and alone.

Trust Konoka to have underwear that belongs in a saloon; that's probably why she ended up in this mess in the first place.

"You cold?"

"A little. Could you turn the heater on?"

It's still warm outside- the sun's out, even if its light is thin and watery, and it's spilling through the windows.

I guess she's more cold on the inside, not out.

A gas flame flares to life with a soft _click-click-click-whoomph_ and her face turns orange from the glow as she scoots closer.

Her shirt's still lying on the floor. That little bottle grins up at me as I throw it to her.

She puts it on, and her movements are slow and jerky. There is a robot sitting before me, and her eyes are blank as plastic.

False firelight melts into brown-plastic eyes and her tongue flicks out to lick chapped, reddened lips. Someone kissed her there, not long before I came home and found a sobbing puddle on the floor. Someone kissed her there, fiercely, hopelessly- how else but hopelessly, because of the teeth marks?

Only people with everything to lose kiss like that.

"I think you should call her."

She looks up at me with scared-rabbit eyes, stumbles to her feet and flees.

Her door slams shut, and I listen to the echo of a broken girl for some time.

I turn the TV on, and I clatter around in the kitchen. Pots bang on stove, glass clinks against bench and packets of instant food rustle, but I can still hear it.

Silent. Slow. Oh. So. _Painful_.

There is a girl dying in the room down the hall, and just by knowing that, I die a little too.

"You never should have left."

Even if she could hear me, I doubt she'd listen.

* * *

"_What'd you say your name was, kid?"_

_He smiles, and red hair flops into his eyes. A pair of pince-nez balance awkwardly on a slightly upturned nose. He's young, like most exchange students are, but he speaks Japanese well enough._

"_Ah, I didn't. Negi Springfield. I have to thank you, miss, for showing me around. I admit I am a little lost..."_

"_A little? You're in the IT wing and you're here to take classes on literature, which is over the other side of campus. I'd say you're more than a little lost."_

_The boy bows, awkwardly, a British gentleman more comfortable with shaking hands._

"_Stop scaring him Asuna. I'm Konoka, and this is Setsuna. We'll show you where you need to go."_

_She rolls mismatched eyes, and shoves them forward, Setsuna spluttering into a snowdrift off the narrow path with a _fwump_ and a flurry of powder._

"_You mean you two will. I'm already late for my lecture with Takahata-"_

"_And the other thirty-five students, Asuna. You're not alone in his class."_

_Konoka smiles, and it's disarming, although there is a little glitter in chocolate eyes that belies her demure image._

_The words 'although you wish you were' seem to hover in chill, crisp air. Asuna's ears glow like lanterns._

_Setsuna chuckles, spits snowflakes, and accepts a hand out of the snow._

"_Whatever, Konoka. See you back at the apartment. And don't forget, kendo girl, it's your turn to cook tonight."_

_Bells jingle across snowy footpaths as she dashes off, and he smiles. He feels at home here, far from mother England, but home nonetheless._

* * *

She dropped her chopsticks. I passed them back to her, and she mumbled thankyou.

It was take out night, and we were eating Tom Yum and Egg Noodles and Special Sauce Duck and laughing at each others fortunes and we were happy, but we weren't, weren't because something was strange with Setsuna, something wrong with her, and I didn't know what.

I don't know anything she hasn't told me.

But I pretended I did. And I was her friend that night, just us, three cartons of Chinese, Asuna gone out and some crappy American movie on the TV and I feel a little sick remembering it.

We'd stopped talking when we ran out of menial things to say, and silence sat with us, hogging all the spare cushions and drinking everything but the orange-aid, which no one likes.

There had been a coffee table and a thousand miles between us.

I didn't know her very well when we were kids. Wanted to, but how could you be friends with someone with such angry eyes, someone so despairingly, achingly cold?

...but she's not cold, I know that now.

Oh, she's scorching and –_her mouth, her fingers and the heat of sweat-slicked, quivering flesh grinding against her and she can't help but moan, can't help it, so, so, so, good-_ trembly and confused and sad around me.

I thought I'd done something wrong. Maybe I have. But she still left. Politely, paid up all her rent for the month and moved her stuff out, leaving us with an empty room and a gap in the CD stack where all her favourite albums were.

And I still don't know what it was I did.

And I hate her. And I don't.

And it hurts.

I go to sleep, and I still feel bad when I wake up.

* * *

"I want to be angry with you for Konoka's sake, you know? And I am, but not as half as angry as I am for your own sake. So get up so I can punch you again."

Her cheek's already puffy and red, one eye swelling shut, and I know I'm damn lucky I hit her. I've seen her fight, in her club's tournaments, and she's good. Short, but strong and damn fast. If this had been a fair fight, I wouldn't have come within striking range without some serious backup and possibly brass knuckles.

But nothing about this is fair.

She retches, and her spit is pink on the bricks. The crowd splits into two snakes and flows around us. A few stop to watch.

She stands up. I kick her in the stomach, and she falls down again.

"Get up. You're so fucking _stupid._ Get up, and fight. She's crying because of you. _You're _crying because of you. So fight me, and maybe I can beat sense into your thick skull."

I won't. God, I'm scared of her, and she's standing up and she looks like she wants to kill me, and the worst bit is, I know she knows she probably could. Shit. There's no probably about it.

She comes at me, and maybe she's clumsier than usual –it's hard to see when you're crying- but she still hits me. And hits me again. And throws me, locks my legs and bends my arm around my head so it's either I yield or break.

I yield, bend to her, and my forehead is pressing into the gritty ground, and she's breathing hard in my ear.

There is a heartbeat worth of time where I can feel her shaking hands grip me, and then her breaths change to sobs, and I tumble forward as she lets go. Someone I don't know helps me up, but she's already running by then.

"She thinks she's done something wrong, Setsuna, she thinks it's her fault! Talk to her for god's sake! Please, just talk to her! She was your friend!"

My words ring out over the darkening campus, flow through the chattering students, and I can see her shudder as they collide with her back.

She doesn't look back. Setsuna never, ever looks back.

She runs as though she flies, and I realise someone I thought so brave-

-_mother dead, father god knows where, gone through schools like a gale through forest, scattering friends and enemies as leaves, running, running, travelling as the crow flies, leaving everything behind to move on and on and on from a past she never talks about-_

-was just a coward after all.

* * *

She's dribbling blood onto the cheap lino, and I can't help but hope we still have floorcleaner in the laundry cupboard. Linoleum soaks up stains like sponge.

"Ako helped patch her up, but Sakurazaki really did a number on her before she ran, and that lip's gonna need stitches," she says as she bundles herself inside. There's a red-head with her, one bell missing, and she won't look at me. "The twins'll help me look for her, but I really doubt we're going to find her."

Kaede helps Asuna down into a chair, who's pressing a handkerchief to a split lip. Her braid slumps over her shoulders, and she flicks it back before standing up.

"I talked to Mana, and she says she'll talk to the Dean about classes she's going to miss-"

"She's a coward, Konoka. Just a coward. Just like you."

I flinch. I can't help it, and Asuna's eyes –not green, not blue, but iridescent with a rage such as I've never seen- drill holes into me. I can feel what courage I have leaking out.

"You're both as bad as each other. There's an elephant in the room, and neither of you will fucking talk about it!"

She spits the words, and hisses in pain. More red blossoms over the hankie.

Kaede looks very awkward, six-foot tall and dwarfed by the towering, trembling Asuna who stands on shaky legs.

What she says burns like poison, much more so than the hand that catches me across the cheek, slamming into me with enough force to make me tremble.

I can't look at her. My cheeks are wet, and she storms past me.

"I'm going to bed."

Kaede leaves, relieved even as I shut the door.

I stare at her blood on the floor for some time, before I get the mop.

By then, the stains are too far gone to come out, and lay on the plastic floor like scars.

I scrub at them till my hands are raw and red, but they still don't come out.

* * *

**ENDNOTE: **Still unhappy, but hopefully a little more plot, and hopefully a little more action.

Reviews are very appreciated and most welcome.

:nudges reader towards button:


	3. The Intervention of Mana

**DISCLAIMER**: Negima is not mine. If it were, there would be an student exchange plan featuring the girls of Ichigo-sha...

**PREFACE: **Blame is not mine, it belongs to my girl for insisting I write more, demanding Mana/Setsuna slash (never!), encouraging my whims far, far too much, and acting as my reluctant muse, idea-bouncer-off-erer and body slave.

Things are spiralling ever downward, and will sink lower still. Don't despair fluffy konosetsu lovers- you can only go so far down before you have to come back up...

KonoSetsu. You have been warned. Citric. You have been warned again. Multiparter. You have been warned a third time.

Konoka. Setsuna. RealWorld!AU. No where near complete. Unbetaed, but edited as best I can.

**

* * *

**

**Part III: The Intervention of Mana **

* * *

_There is a woman lying here now, dressed in a man's shirt far too large for her. Empty sleeves flop over strong, delicate, calloused hands._

_(she thinks although she does not want to, and what she thinks is that this would be so much easier were she a man, but she isn't and it isn't and all she can do is weather the blows, and roll with them, side to side as fists of an entirely too uncaring affection sink in, again and again.)_

_Her hair is tangled. One sock hangs off a dainty foot; there is an air of despair, and the room is thick with it._

_A television set casts flickering shadows on the walls beside a too-narrow, too-empty bed._

_The light flickers in her eyes in much the same manner. Eye. The other is swollen shut._

_She is in love, and it isn't pleasant, isn't full of flowers and twittering birds and promises of undying, everlasting...whatever. It makes her want to vomit, throw up her pain until she is empty and quite, quite dead._

_But she can't. She is a coward, and clings to life as never she clung to her father's hand._

_She tries to go to sleep, and no images of her lover's eyes, her lover's smile haunt her. She thinks they should, it would be more poetic if they did, that if she's going to lie here all night staring at the ceiling she may as well have something beautiful to look at but they don't and still she can't sleep._

_The curtains are drawn. The room is dark, and cramped, and manages to appear soulless with a deceptive ease._

_It could have been any cheap room in any cheap hotel anywhere in the whole cheap world._

_She briefly considers buying whiskey; the stereotype appeals to her melancholic nature._

_She doesn't, but instead rolls onto her side and stares at nothing in particular._

_A spring from the busted mattress digs into her naked thigh through cheap sheets, and soon her flesh is red and bruising._

_It is vastly more satisfying than whiskey._

* * *

I've had stitches before, but they still sting like bitches. Just another little butterfly kiss of pain, and I'm done. 

Seven in total, four for the cut under the soft flesh that frames my eye, and three tiny, dark knots of medical thread for the lip that's swelling like rice in a pot.

The nurse gives me the all clear, but tells me not to sleep too long tonight. Konoka's in for a rough night, and in a perverse kinda way it makes me feel better.

She deserves a rough night every now and again, keeps her sweetness from becoming saccharine.

We're walking away from the emergency room, and it's a chilly spring evening and I miss the old coat Takahata gave me. It smells like tweed and cigarettes and it's worn but warm. Kinda like him.

She doesn't say anything, and we're just walking along, past groups of people laughing and talking and holding hands and kissing and there's an elephant with us.

Not literally. People'd pay more attention if there was.

But there's a huge big silent thing between us, between _them_, and that there's a _them_ at all tells me how much they need to talk.

And they will talk, no matter if I have to beat 'em both stupid.

My arm twinges a bit at that, and I know she could have so very easily broken it.

I could lapse into thoughtfulness about Setsuna's skill at martial arts, but then I'd be ignoring Konoka. She has chocolate brown puppy eyes. You can't ignore eyes like that, else they get big and wobbly at you.

The last time that happened we ended up buying a goldfish and it didn't even last three days. Then I had to deal with the 'funeral'. Just plain safer to pay attention, rather than risk those eyes again.

She kicks a stray leaf as we walk. It sticks to her shoe, and Konoka just sighs.

It's not a happy sound. It's not even a sad sound, it's just a tired, go-away kind of noise.

There's silence between us for a little while.

"I didn't know, all right. I didn't know she liked me. Call me stupid, I don't care, but _I didn't know!_"

The words burst out of her, desperate to be believed. She grabs my arm, and the world moves around us as we stand still under a large oak tree.

"God, Asuna, how much don't I know about her? I don't know her favourite colour, her mother's name, how many sugars to put in her coffee! I don't know anything about her, and she knows me inside out. Literally now," she whispers the last, and her head is bowed and I know she's crying even if I can't see it.

It's late now; the lights are on, and lampposts glow like strange iron sentinels through tree-shaded lanes and alleys. The air smells clean, fresh; away from the city and the smog. There's a cheer in the distance, and group laughter and applause; I remember Zazie's circus group is performing for Amateur Theatre Night tonight.

Konoka's still holding onto me. Tears drip onto my hand.

"How much do you want to know about her?"

"Everything," she whispers again, and now I've got an armful of her, hiccuping against my shoulder, wiping her wet eyes on my shirt. I don't mind. I've done it to her often enough.

"Talking to her'd be a good start, you know."

She doesn't say anything, just sniffs a bit. I hold her for a little while. She pulls away, wipes her nose on her sleeve, and I pretend not to notice, because friends do that for each other.

"You're not supposed to sleep tonight, are you?"

It's a change of subject, but I'm not going to push it. I've said my part. It's up to them now.

"Nope. Mild concussion. Setsuna's got fists like rocks, you know. That girl should work in a friggin' quarry."

It's not a particularly good joke, but she laughs anyway. It's either laugh or cry.

"Guess we should get you back and tuck you up on the couch with some hot chocolate and an ice pack for that cheek of yours. You don't want it to get all swollen and puffy now, do you?"

"No, nurse Konoka."

We walk through the pooling lamplight, and her eyes are still red and her mouth is still wobbly at the corners, but she's looking more upbeat, even now.

_

* * *

_

"_And what time do you call this? It's got to be past two o'clock at least. Must've hit the sake hard, huh?"_

"_Um, afternoon...? Ugh, my head. Got any Berocca left? And you know very well I don't drink... sake, Asuna."_

"_Mm-hm. Whatever, Konoka. And go wash your face- you've got lip-gloss smeared all up your cheek."_

_There's a certain sly tone to her voice, and it makes Just Setsuna wince. Konoka doesn't notice, or doesn't mind the implications._

"_So... who was he, anyway? From around here?"_

"_Hm, what? God that tastes foul... uh, some friend of Ayaka's, I think," she mutters, waving a dismissive hand. "He said he was from America, you know, mum from here and dad from there and wanted to learn about his 'cultural heritage'. Or something."_

"_Hah! Bet you didn't even know his name."_

"_Did too, Asuna! I'm not a tramp, you know." She sticks her tongue out and waggles it mischievously. "And besides, his name was Takeshi, Takeshi somethingarather, like I told Setsuna."_

'_You didn't tell me,' she wants to say; 'You didn't even notice I was there at all but for the door being open. You didn't tell me who he was, why you were kissing him, or why I'm just...'_

_The words are tight around her tongue, lashing it to the roof of her mouth. Just Setsuna doesn't speak, because she cannot, and to speak would be to admit she's hurt, but she isn't, because you don't hurt like this if you don't care about someone..._

_The thought stops there, and she's grateful, but she's not because she has to listen to the next words that pop out of Asuna's careless, thoughtless, bluntly curious mouth._

"_So... did you sleep with him or not?"_

"_ASUNA!" shrieks Konoka, and throws herself at laughing, wagglingly suggestive red eyebrows, and the two of them cackle and giggle and quite destroy the lounge room as pillows, books and clean washing left on the couch to be folded fly through the air._

_A lamp near her wobbles off a shelf, clipped by a haphazard cushion, and she catches it, trying not to think about the question and sure she doesn't want to know the answer._

_The others never notice she isn't laughing._

* * *

She cut her hair short. It hurts to see it. 

It doesn't suit her, and drifts in the wind far too easily. She looks more like Nodoka than herself, right down to the lost look in her eyes.

I don't tell her this. We don't talk much as it is, and I would not break the silence for words of so little consequence.

"I'd ask why you were here, but that'd be too cliché and too obvious. Same with saying what do you want, or leave me alone. They're all true though. But you aren't going to, are you Mana?"

She scrapes her tongue over chapped lips. The bus driver beeps impatiently, then drives off, leave a guttering wisp of petrol-stinking smoke to wash over us. There's another coming in ten minutes, and I have to get her back on campus before she takes it.

The bus station is empty, but it's still hard to hear her voice.

"Ku Fei said you had a date tonight, when I dropped by to get the rest of my... things... off her. Why aren't you with what'shisname from the sports club?"

"He knows you're a friend, and some things are more important. And besides, I didn't like the movie he picked out. Some American shit about zombies."

"I'm not your friend, Mana. We weren't close enough to be friends. We worked together sometimes, that's all."

"You lived with me for four years before you moved to Kyoto and Konoka."

"And how much do I know about you? How much to you know about me? _Shit all, Mana_."

She spits the words, like a bad taste. A tear splatters on the ground.

She never swears. Nor does she cry. She wants me to leave but she doesn't. God, it's as obvious as if she'd begged me to take her home.

"You don't need to know someone to care about them. Come on. Don't fuck around anymore, Setsuna. I'll kick you from here to your little shoebox of a room if I have to."

I mean it. She's angry but defeated, and we stand outside a building poured of concrete and bureaucratic inefficiency, and the air stinks of smoke and petrol and the trash littering the ground.

She stares at me for a little while. She doesn't sigh, or flinch away or anything, but hands me her second bag. It's heavy. She looks a little lighter not to be carrying it.

"My car's in the underground lot. And if you'd really wanted to get away, you would've bought a train ticket."

* * *

I try not to think about it. Everyone knows we're on bad terms with Setsuna, and that she's not on campus anymore –_which hurts, hurts, hurts but she doesn't say it, 'cause no one should know that it hurts so, so much- _and that she got into a fight with Asuna. 

Thank _you_, reporter girl, for writing about it in the student paper. Thank you _so much_.

And it's just us, sitting out on the park bench and arguing over which electives we should pick next semester.

No one's come near us since Asuna told Kazumi to stick her camera up her ass if she wanted a picture of her stitches for her report.

Sometimes I think Asuna's too violent for her own good.

"I'd take Remedial English if I thought Takahata'd teach it again."

"You've taken R.E three years in a row Asuna, and you know you'd take kindergarten again if Takahata taught it, little kids or no."

"Would not!"

...and she's sulking now. And she thinks I'm childlike. _And now Setsuna's walking towards us, Mana at her back, and I can't breathe._

Asuna starts to say something about how she only feels respect for Takahata and then only on a professional level, but slows to a halt, last few words unvoiced and stuttered.

She's standing a few feet away from me, meeting my eyes with defiance and anger and pain and something I don't understand and all I can think is that she's cut her hair.

Shorn, it barely reaches her shoulders, and flutters in her face when the wind blows.

No one says anything for a little while, and a few people make muttered comments as they pass us by.

"Well, I brought her back, and that's my altruistic act for the week. I'll leave you three to your tearful reunion. And, Asuna, next time don't pick a fight with someone who's out of her mind. Less painful, that way."

She looks at us, at all of us, and her eyes are older than our ages combined.

"You three better sort this shit out. I can't keep making sure she doesn't run away, you know. Got better things to do with my time."

She half-smiles, a little twist of her very stern mouth, making it soft and somehow sad, like she knows what's happening, knows and understands and pities us all. The sun beats down on my back, through my thin spring cardigan and I wish I didn't wear it. Mana leaves, and now Asuna and _her_ are watching me to see what I'll do.

_But Setsuna is staring at me, staring at my face, and her gaze is hot, and I wish Asuna wasn't here so I could meet that gaze with the chill in my stomach._

"Konoka...? I think I should..." She doesn't finish what she's saying, and she doesn't need to. Asuna looks at me, and asks _are you going to be okay?_ with mismatched eyes.

I nod. She leaves. And now it's just us, and the chilly morning air –just a touch of winter left- and the warm spring sun. I'm all hot and cold at the same time.

"Where did you go?"

"Bus station. Before that, a motel."

She takes a step.

"You missed a week's worth of classes."

"I know."

And another.

"Grandfather isn't happy."

"I know."

And another and another and now's she's in front of me, looking ever so slightly up.

"...you should-shouldn't," I whisper, and she says she knows, but she does anyway, tugs me close, pulls me down, and those hot eyes close and that soft mouth closes over mine.

I breathe her in, a little gasp, and I don't want this, don't want to _want _this, but...

Her tongue flicks against my teeth, slips into my mouth, teases a shiver from me.

One hand slides up my back, and she moulds herself against me, that flat stomach, those small, high breasts pressed against me, those narrow hips just touching my own.

Her lips break from mine. Her breathing is fast now, panting, and she eases my head back, presses her mouth to my throat, tongue scraping over the jumping, fluttering pulse that is pounding in my head and heart and all of me, all at once.

I want her to stop. I want her to keep going. I don't know what I want, but I don't want it like this.

Something wet slides down my cheek. My hands, fisted in her shirt, tense, and then it's just a simple shove and she stumbles away from me.

"Konoka...?"

"No. Please. Don't. I can't..."

Her face was soft, confused and hurting and now it hardens and I don't like her eyes now, so hard, so cold and tearing me up.

"Please, Setsuna, I didn't mean-"

"Yes you did. Although it would've been nice to know before you let me kiss you."

She reaches for me, and I flinch, and her thumb scrapes across my lip.

Her eyes, pale in sunlight, darken. Her mouth twists angrily.

"You can't stand me, can you? You let me do those things to you, but as soon as I stop, you pretend you don't want me!"

She grabs my chin, fingers about my throat, and it hurts.

She's hurt me too damn much, and my hand rises too easily to slam into the side of her face.

_"Don't touch me! Don't you touch me!"_

My throat hurts and I'm screaming now, but I can't stop.

"I didn't want you to fucking touch me! If I'd have wanted it, I'd have asked! Why the fuck did you in the first place? How fucked up are you that you saw I wanted this? I'm not like you, Setsuna! I'm not, I'm _NOT_ so just _fuck off!_"

And now, silence. Isn't it funny how when you're going to say something you really shouldn't you never realise it until the words have already slipped out?

I didn't mean it. I know I didn't, and any one of the half a dozen or so people who are staring at us knows that as well, but Setsuna, Setsuna so blind to truth, so easily hurt, so tough and so, so weak when it comes to things she can't cope with- she doesn't.

And she's running.

And I don't know if I want to stop her.

Sometimes things break so bad you just want to let the pieces lie.

* * *

And Setsuna runs away again... I'm surprised she isn't on the track team. :3 

And no, it won't end like this.

Wah. So much drama is eating my brain. And because Konoka is a normal human being she swears and gets angry too. And Mana is awesome and there is simply not enough Mana-love going around.

Next chapter to be posted as soon as possible.

Reviews make me write faster.


	4. Konoka, Galvanised

**DISCLAIMER**: Negima is not mine. If it were, there would be an student exchange plan featuring the girls of Ichigo-sha...

**PREFACE: **My girlfriend. Insane plot bunnies that keep me up at night. The small chibi Set-chan statue that sits next to my phone. The videogames that refuse to cooperate and just let me win. My itchy, itchy fingers. My reviewers.

The above are reasons this was posted. Blame them. Not me. (except chibi Set-chan, who is too damn cute to be guilty of anything.)

Still unfinished, but closer than I thought to completion...

Unbetaed. Edited as best I can. Konoka. Setsuna. RealWorld!AU.

KonoSetsu. You have been warned. Citric. You have been warned again. Multiparter. You have been warned a third time.

* * *

**Part IV: Konoka, Galvanised.**

* * *

"_So you're Setsuna."_

_She's very small for her age. According to the folder the school gave us, she should be seven. Seven year olds don't barely reach to your knee. She's thin and her eyes are too narrow, too suspicious- this little girl is watching me with an awareness most people don't achieve until the world has fucked them over at least twice._

"_Yes, sir."_

_Her voice is quiet. Too quiet. Seven year olds are the noisiest creatures in existence, and this one has said nothing for over five hours now._

"_You're seven, yes?"_

_A nod._

"_I have a daughter a little older than you."_

_She does nothing, is waiting and watching the trees flick past from half-frosted windows. It might be too cold in the car for her- she is only a small thing; perhaps I should put the heater on._

"_Her name is Mana. You will like her."_

"_Yes sir."_

_I don't think she realises the last was not a command._

_We pause in traffic and snow thumps onto the roof. The child beside me does not make a sound._

"_We will be home soon."_

"_Yes sir."_

_The rest of the trip is silent, and even though her feet dangle over the edge of her seat, she does not swing them back and forth._

_I have to wonder if I have not been given a child, but a statue._

* * *

She's never seemed a particularly emotional sort, in all the little I've had to do with her, but her she is, drinking tequila like water. Hmm. I would've thought she'd have gone for sake at least, samurai heritage and all...

There's a slap mark that glows pink and just the thinnest edge of bruise-yellow on her pale cheeks.

"I never picked you for a drinking girl."

Oh, and she's glaring at me now. How _nice_. Ever aloof, ever controlled little-miss-swordplay is having a bad day...

"You have never cared to speak with me before, McDowell. I don't understand why you would deign to do so now."

Ooh, it talks.

"What's up your ass, Sakurazaki? Last I heard, you scored pretty recently, so you shouldn't have any reason to feel pissy."

And yes, that is a glass smashing against the bar. I'm surprised she didn't get shards in her fingers. The boys playing snooker in the corner jump and glance in our direction briefly. The barman's eyes narrow, and he clears his throat meaningfully, but Setsuna doesn't notice. Or doesn't care.

"Fuck off, McDowell."

She growls the words, rolling her l's and though her command of English is good she stretches her vowels just a little too much.

"Don't say anything. Just drink your fucking Bloody Mary and leave me alone."

My stool creaks a little as I rock back on two legs. My shoes clunk against the metal rack beneath the bar.

"Oh right, I remember now- didn't she shoot you down in the park this morning?"

"_Evangeline..._" she hisses, and it _is_ a hiss; slow, sibilant and menacing. Black eyes tear chunks from me in narrowed, burning, hateful glances.

Wonderful. God, I don't have this much fun teasing Chacha.

"Don't try to intimidate me sweetheart- you're too short to act tough."

She moves as though to stand up, fingers twitching on the bar. I can hear her feet _thunk-thunk-thunking_ against the wooden panels.

"But I digress. I think Makie –was it Makie?- said something 'bout you getting slapped down because Konoka isn't a _queer_ like you."

Oh, here we go. Yes. The gnashing of the teeth, that slow grind, and now the blood is trickling away from that too-pale face, and she's even more ghostly now. But those eyes... oh, she's pissed.

Good. And yes, the snooker boys are backing away now, and even monosyllabic barman is feeling a little threatened.

She doesn't say anything, but minces her fingernails into the bar mat, scratching them deep into the wood. She's gotta be bleeding a little, or someone's spilt their raspberry cruiser by the way that stain is spreading.

"You're awful quiet, Sakurazaki? Something I say offend you?"

Even I can't believe the innocent tone I take. Heh.

She leaves without further ado, but the door that clicks shut quietly behind her sounds ominous in the dank ill-lit gloom of the dingiest bar this side of campus.

Her half-drunk tequila sloshes a little in her glass. I drink it. Shame to waste it, really.

* * *

"_Hey, Konoka, are you all right?"_

"_Yeah, I heard about what happened with you and-"_

"_I'm fine. Really. I just want to go home."_

Yue walks past, pauses, realises it's me she's looking at and hurries off. Occasionally, one of the patrons in the noodle bar behind me will glance my way –their gazes hot and pushing through the cool glass I lean against- but no one moves to intercept me.

I wonder how far Setsuna's run by now.

Even when we were kids, she was fast- faster than the track team combined. When she ran, it was like she was flying.

"_Ready... set... and go! Pwheeeet!"_

_A small figure is flying down the track, sneaker soles barely touching asphalt, feet skimming over ground as though wings bore them up. There is no dust behind her, although there should be, and the crowd falls silent as thin, reedy legs devour ground in dashing strides._

_The other girls stop running –there's no point in racing when the winner is already decided-, but this child does not. She does not look back. Her feet do not slow, and the ribbon at the end –the one she snaps through- does not stop her._

_She keeps running, and it takes four adults to catch her and explain it was only a race, only a race- she can stop running now._

_The look on her face says she doesn't understand, but no one sees it, and no one thinks to ask why._

It's past lunchtime. My stomach growls and twinges a little at being ignored.

I should go home. I should. I told everyone who found me, worried about me that I would, that I was fine, _that no, you don't need to call Asuna, I can actually_ _take care of myself_-

God. It feels weird to be so angry again. But I'm sick of being sad. Maybe being angry is a good thing because I- I- I don't want to feel-

-_pain, oh, oh, oh, and she can't believe she just did that her hand ringing and burning and the smoothness of that cheek still pressing against her flesh even though she's gone, she'sgone,gonegonegone,andsheneedsherheretostay,stay,stay-_

I smudge the tears off my cheeks. No more crying. Not now. Not even in anger.

My hands hurt 'cause I'm clenching them too hard.

I try to smooth them flat against the stone ledge. They shake a little, but I manage it.

It hurts a little to breathe, my chest so tight, but I suck air down, push it out and force myself to stop trembling.

_Konoka, it's about time you stopped being so weak_, I say to myself, and I know I can be stronger now.

* * *

"What the _hell_ are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be at the park with Konoka? Well, I suppose you can come in anyway. Here." 

She looks a little startled to be handed shopping, but well, that's her problem. If she wants to come inside, she's not going to stand around being useless.

"Asuna...? Where do you-"

"On the bench. The meat should all go in the freezer, but leave some mince out. I'm making potato pie for dinner." I look over at her, and she ducks down a little, hunches her shoulders a little, shrinks back a little. She looks kinda like a jack-in-a-box, bobbing down like that.

Huh. Gotta wonder when she'll be ready to spring out.

"If it's alright with Konoka, I guess you could stay for dinner."

"I don't think it'll be alright with Konoka," she whispers, and her voice is a little husky. "She wasn't that happy to see me again."

"So your little talk didn't go so well, huh?"

I'm a little disappointed. Mana seemed so sure it'd work out-

"_Hey! Wait up!"_

_She turns to watch the red-head run, bells jingling, and manages to look as composed as only she can as Asuna wheezes and splutters. Running halfway across campus without a good warm up will do that to a girl._

"_What the hell are you doing?! Those two aren't just going play nice 'cause you pushed them together, you know! Konoka's really upset-"_

"_I'm not surprised. But they're grown people, Asuna. This is their problem, not ours. And if 'pushing them together' helps them work it out, so be it."_

_She shifts the bag over her shoulder, and smooths her jumper over a leather holster._

_It's Tuesday. She has firing practice at the range. Asuna flinches a little at the charcoal plastic of a gun handle._

"_I'm late. Leave them alone, don't get involved and it'll be fine. Those two... huh, Setsuna needs Konoka like she needs air, and the other one ain't so different. Now, if you'll excuse me...?"_

"Here. Chop those carrots, will you?"

The knife _chunks_ against the board crisply, and Setsuna cuts carrots and onions and whatever vegetables I push at her, seemingly with her eyes closed. A small heap of vegetables –carrots, onions, tomatoes- piles up neatly at the end of her board, chopped pieces even and neat. God, why can't I chop like that?

The mince I'm browning bubbles away, almost ready now, and the sauce tastes alright as well. I can't cook as well as Konoka can, and I can't bake a cake to save my life, but this recipe is simple enough.

"Carrots, please. And do you mind peeling me half a dozen potatoes?"

She makes a noise that could be assent, but I'm not worried about that. It's almost four in afternoon. Where the hell is Konoka? Even if she went off somewhere to think, she should've been home by now...

"Setsuna, pass me the salt?"

I hold out my hand. A moment passes, and I am still not holding the salt container. I turn, and she's just standing by the bench. Not moving, and the knife is just lying on the bench, tomato juice sliding off the edge.

"...Setsuna? What are you-?"

And then I'm being pushed against the fridge –_fuck_ _she's fast_- and there's magnets pattering down and _is that her hand up my shirt?!_

"Setsuna?! The hell-"

And her mouth slams down on mine with bruising force, and she's crushing herself against me. The fridge handle is digging into my back, her tongue sweeps my mouth and I don't want her to fucking touch me, I can't push her off and now her other hand is on my thigh-

_Fuck. Get off me, Setsuna!_

My cheeks are wet, and her mouth is hard and bruising and-

"Hey, Asuna. Oh, that smells goo-"

Konoka's bag _fwumps_ onto the ground. Setsuna peels herself off me, and I slide down the fridge. The ground is cold and my legs are shaking and I'm trying not to think how I couldn't fight her off, couldn't stop her cold hand sliding up my skirt-

Time doesn't slow, and the clock just keeps on ticking, and it's just all of us being still.

Konoka, by the door. Mouth twisted into something like a grimace. Eyes burning. Fingers clenching.

Setsuna, by the bench. Choking on something that could be a sob. Eyes scrunched shut. Hands shaking.

And me. On the floor. Scared to speak. Eyes open –too open- cause I don't want to see what's coming next-

Konoka slumps, sighs, and the air turns liquid again, ceases burning itself down my throat and it is easy to breathe now.

"You shouldn't have run off, Setsuna."

* * *

"_It's called mochi, Negi. Mo-chiiii. Say it with me."_

"_Moh-chee...?"_

"_No, not like that. Here. Listen...Mo-chiiii."_

_He stumbles over the words a little, but manages to get them out well enough, and Konoka smiles like a mother on a favourite child._

"_See, you got it Negi! You'll be speaking like a native in no time, won't he Asuna?"_

"_Huh. 'spose you speak well enough for a foreigner, kid."_

_Even Setsuna smiles at him, and he doesn't feel half-bad, being with these girls. Feels like being home with his sister and Anya, almost._

_And he walks with them, past the stands and sips gingerly at this new taste –Konoka gulps down hers and then tries to steal Setsuna's, to no avail, the shorter girl guarding her sweet treat like a samurai would his lord's castle._

"_If you already ate yours Konoka, I won't give you any of mine. If you knew you'd eat it so quickly, you should've bought another."_

"_Oh, pleeeeaaaseeeee Setsuna? Pleasepleasepleaseplease? You're the only one who got the same flavour as me!"_

"_No."_

"_Oh, you're mean."_

_Konoka pouts, and manages to avoid walking into a man the size and shape of a bear –and apparently covered in the same amount of body-hair- by sheer cuteness alone._

"_Still no."_

_She will relent by the time they reach the famous noodle stand –run by another university student, he understands- and Konoka smiles gleefully over her portion, cunning mind already trying to weasel more food out of her companion._

_Asuna just laughs, and throws the cheap toy bear she won at Konoka's head._

_And the four of them walk on, through the grounds, and though the festival is brightly coloured and well lit, Setsuna finds herself uneasy._

_Konoka's hand brushes hers in all innocence as she runs ahead to try a knock-'em-down game, and Setsuna suddenly knows why._

* * *

I feel hot. So, so hot. My blood is steam, and it is whistling through my veins. Surely, it will burst out of me eventually? No one could stand the pressure, not even me.

God.

Asuna's on the floor, and I've never seen her look so scared.

_Oh god. I'm sorry. I-I-I didn't know what I was doing..._

I want to say it, but it was a lie, and I knew very well why I wanted to hurt her like that. How could I just stand there in the kitchen, chopping vegetables like some sort of _normal_ person, when I'm a...

Freak. Weirdo. Pervert. Luster-after-friends. _Queer._

"_I don't even know why I knocked you up in the first place, Kaori! If you were just going to sneak around with that whore from next door-"_

"_Seiji," she whimpers, and it is a whimper through lips bruised and mashed, "please, Setsuna is-"_

"_That little fucker? God, I don't care about her. Huh. Least I know she's mine, you bitch. Now I know why your parents were so keen to marry you off. So keen to have you with a _man_."_

_She clamps her hands shut. Closes them tight over her eyes, tries to press her ears into her shoulders so she can't hear. Bites down her bottom lip so she can't speak. Doesn't want daddy to hear her..._

_A slap. Hard hand meets soft flesh. The sound makes her tremble, and huddle back into her corner._

_She can see their shadows on the wall. Her father's hands rising and falling and her mother's body shrinking in on herself._

"_How long have you being seeing that harlot? How long? How long have you been fucking a woman, Kaori? Wasn't I giving you the attention a husband should?"_

"_Please! Seiji! No, please- I- no, I won't, never again, I swear! Please, no..."_

"_Damn right you won't. I'll fuck you straight if I have to, bitch. You won't be queer when I'm done."_

_And their voices are quiet now, and her daddy is grunting and pushing, and she doesn't want to hear._

_Her mother moans like a dying beast._

_Setsuna huddles under her bed, grips her soft bear, and tries to sleep._

God. How can I act like there's nothing wrong about this situation? I can't just be-

"Asuna."

Konoka's voice is so soft, so warm and stern and caring Asuna can't help but stand herself up on shaking feet. She's looking at me like I'm a monster, and maybe I am.

"Come here."

"Konoka, I-"

"Akira says you can stay with her tonight, if you don't mind driving her to the pool. Her car broke down last night she needs to be there early in the morning."

"Um. Okay, I guess..."

Asuna is stuttering and scared and not herself, and I know I've fucked up again.

I still feel hot and shaky, like I'm on fire. There's something burning beneath my skin and no one else notices.

Asuna stumbles about, grabs some clothes, and tries-but-fails not to run out the door.

And then we're alone, and I can't look at her.

_I've done so much wrong to you. How can I even start to make good?_

_I never deserved to have you._

There's silence, and I'm so, so nervous, and when she speaks her voice is cool water to my thirsty ears.

"Setsuna, I shouldn't have said what I did. You shouldn't have said what you did."

She steps forward. I step back, even though I don't want to.

She smiles, and it's just a smile. Not sad. Not happy. Not forced. Just there.

It's enough, and I stop shaking.

I don't feel so hot now.

"We need to talk."

That's an understatement.

She reaches for me, and her hands are cool.

* * *

_She walks, and the anger bubbling up inside just seems to flow away by the time she's half-way home._

_She doesn't know why, so she stops, and turns and walks somewhere else._

_Chizuru seems a little surprised to see her, but smiles none the less._

"_Oh, Konoka? How are you, sweetie? I heard about the whole mess with Setsuna. I hope it works out, you know. She's gone through far too much..."_

_Chizuru is a psychology student, and a chatterbox, and Konoka knows why she came here. Even when they lived together in the dorms at Mahora primary, even when her grandfather organised activities for his grandchild and her roommates, Setsuna was always left Wednesday afternoon free._

_By the time they reached secondary, it was no secret that the girl visited a psychologist on a regular basis._

_And everyone knew who the doctor in question was._

"_Well, mama always kept her files to herself. And if I looked in them for you, I'd be breaching client confidentiality."_

"_I know. I'm not asking you to show them to me. I just want to know your mother's phone number."_

_She smiles. There's no anger now; there was enough before to galvanise her, but now she can cast it all away._

_She knows what she's doing._

_The only problem is, she doesn't know why._

* * *

Ooh, drama. :swoons theatrically: So much damn drama. 

And I apologise for both the wait and the wife-beater-daddy cliché. It needed to be in there. And hopefully I'm not turning Set-chan into an emo. It is not my intention.

All will be made clear soon enough.

Reviews keep me alive and writing.


	5. The World getting smaller

**DISCLAIMER**: Negima is not mine. If it belonged to me, Setsuna would throw her inhibitions to the wind.

**PREFACE: **_Drink Me_ is drawing to a close. One more part to go...

As always, blame my girlfriend for encouraging me. Thanks go to the reviewers, for being awesome.

Edited as best I can. Unbetaed. Please point out any mistakes, and they shall be fixed.

Konoka. Setsuna. RealWorld!AU.

KonoSetsu. You have been warned. Citric. You have been warned again. Multiparter. You have been warned a third time.

**

* * *

**

Part V: The World getting smaller.

* * *

"You're making yourself sound more fucked up than you really are, Setsuna."

Konoka doesn't get it. She's smiling at me with that stupid, irritating, annoying, beautiful smile, like she knows something I don't, like she knows me inside out, seams and all.

"I _am_ fucked up." The words slide out, smooth and practiced. I don't know how many times I've said them before.

"You're not."

"I am! How do you know if I am or not? How do you know what's inside me? How do you know, Konoka, that I won't go batshit-crazy, paint myself black and go on a murderous-fucking-rampage! _You don't,_" and I'm not screaming, I'm not, I'm not, I'm _not_, standing up and waving my arms, and feeling like-

"You don't know what I _am."_

-I'm ripping, ripping, busting apart. I can feel it, and it doesn't feel good. But then, not much does. I sit down again, rest my elbow on the bench, dirty dishes from the half cooked food still piled up. There's a fork near me, covered in meat sauce, wobbling on the edge of a dish.

I breathe in. Out. I still feel like my seams are straining to stay together.

"Setsuna," she begins, and she's not smiling now, reaching forward to take my hand. I rock back, and I'm on the floor, stool rocking back and forth, fourth leg buckled and warped –cheap aluminium shit that it is. My head hurts. My back is smarting, and the linoleum is cold, but that's not anything for the way she's looking at me.

Not anything at all. Her eyes are the rich brown of polished wood, of melting chocolate, of a thousand other cliché things I could compare them to- and she pities me. I can see it.

"Setsuna, don't do this to yourself."

"Do what? _Don't you get it_? I'm no good, messed up, fucked up, twisted- whatever. I have _issues_, Konoka, and I'm not good enough for-"

"Shut up!" she snaps, and it's like being mauled by a kitten. My mouth hangs open a little, and that isn't pity, that's...

"You disgust me sometimes. You're _not _fucked up, you don't have _"issues"_-," and the word is a snarl, rough and angry. Bubbles are fizzing in my stomach as she yanks me to my feet, kicks the broken stool away and slams me against the bench. It hurts, and there's something pointy digging in my back, but I don't say anything. I don't think I can.

Not with that face a few inches from my own.

Rage, sweet burning anger, and it's searing me to the core. My bones are melting, I'm sure of it, and I'm ashes now, ready to float away on the merest breath of breeze.

"-and you're just using excuses, Setsuna. Excuses."

She's calmer now. I think. There is no wrath in those eyes, like there was before. I don't know if I'm relieved or not.

She straightens herself up a little, leans back, and tucks that soft hair behind her ears. Smoothes her shirt down. Twists her skirt back the right way.

A car honks in the distance, and if I listen carefully –for the apartment block is quiet now, breath sucked in, anxious to see what happens next- I can hear an old man yelling about his scratched paint job in the car park below us.

She looks at me. She sees too much. Her fingers are on my seams, and they've found a rip. I'm just waiting for her to pull those loose threads...

One finger rests on her chin. She smiles again, and there's a little dimple in her cheek.

I'm not focusing, I know I'm not and there's something I don't recognise in her eyes.

"How long?" her words are gentle. She doesn't want to frighten me away. She won't, though. She holds the fabric of me in her hands.

She knows, she knows. I don't want to say what she already knows, but I do, and my eyes are wet.

She's not tearing me apart. She's trying to patch me up.

And that's what hurts the most.

* * *

"_Well, I know my father came here when he was younger. He was actually an old friend of your father, Konoka, so it's kinda funny we ended up meeting."_

_They are drinking tea, and it is different from anything he's ever tasted. A little bitter, a little strange, but it still tastes good._

"_Daddy? Really? Wow. I'll have to ask him about it when I ring up on Sunday. Ooh, I hope he hasn't tried to buy cigarettes again..." her brows crease in mock anger, and her pout –so obviously put upon- makes him laugh._

"_So... why are you retracing his steps, anyway?"_

"_Hm? Oh, because... well, I don't know much about what my dad was like when he was younger. I lived with my uncle, and my sister used to tell me stories about him, dashing off on planes all the time, travelling to countries I'd never heard of. He was always travelling- for his peacekeeping work, you know."_

"_Wow, Negi! I wish my family was as interesting as yours. I mean, we don't do anything that was special."_

_Asuna snorts from the lounge, and turns the volume down a little._

"_Nothing special, huh? Let me tell you about Konoka's family, kiddo," she says, leaning over the couch, arms dangling against the soft backrest, "Konoka here belongs to one of the oldest –and richest- families in Japan. She practically owns this university, the campus, primary school and all- not to mention a large part of the neighbouring city. Nothing special my ass."_

_Konoka blushes, a little shy, but doesn't think the things Asuna is listing are of any real importance. Her eyes flick to Setsuna, who is, as always, quiet. She looks back at Konoka, and it seems to her they could just stay looking at each other, quiet-like, while Asuna and Negi talk and the world moves on around them._

_She smiles, and Setsuna –painfully shy- gives a little twist of mouth back; something so small and barely noticeable that she has to wonder if it was even there at all._

_And then Asuna throws a pillow at Negi, and then she has to scramble forward to catch her antique tea set before it smashes, and their little moment is lost in all the hubbub._

_But Konoka doesn't forget, and goes to sleep wondering why seeing that little, fragile, almost-not smile seems so important._

* * *

"You're almost twenty-three. That's over half your life."

"I know."

"Half of your life, Setsuna, wasted on loving me."

The last slips out, and I mean it as a joke, but her face crumbles a little and I wish I never said it.

"I know. It's –_I'm_- pathetic."

"That's not what I mean," and I don't mean it, and shutters are falling down over those charcoal eyes, not so pale now, not so hot; like whatever flame was burning there has gone to ashes.

"You could've picked someone so much better, you know. Not ignorant me, who didn't know until it was staring me in the face."

And now that I think about it, it is so obvious, so damn obvious that I want to slap myself in the face for not seeing it, for not seeing, not knowing and causing us both heartache.

She pushes some dishes over and swings herself up onto the bench, those lean legs dangling over imitation marble-topping and brushing against the cheap stools we bought at a garage sale.

The broken one is still on the floor.

Behind her, next door's cat makes her own sleek way across the kitchen window ledge. We used to have herbs there, mint and basil and thyme, growing in pots, painted by all of us one lazy Sunday afternoon last summer. Asuna ruined her favourite track shirt, and I managed to paint my sneakers purple. Setsuna was the only one who remained relatively clean.

I can remember tipping a pot of green paint over her head in envy.

"_I don't see why _I _was the one that got paint tipped over her. Why couldn't you have spilt paint on Asuna? She was already pink and yellow!"_

_She's scrubbing, wobbling on the edge of the bathtub, feet already pink and raw and no longer so green._

"_Well, you were the only one who was clean, and it wasn't fair that we were paint-streaked and you weren't. That's why, silly."_

_Konoka giggles a little, and shifts to lean against the basin. Setsuna smiles over her shoulder, scrubbing verdant arms with a hard-bristled brush._

"_Whatever, Konoka. Pass the mineral turps, will you?"_

If I were as hopeless as I was a few days ago, I would sigh now, glancing past her to that window and that cat but seeing neither- only how we used to be.

But I'm not hopeless any more.

"Asuna knew, didn't she?"

She looks a little startled, jerks her head up at me. My mind wasn't the only one wandering.

"I guess- I mean she-," she closes her eyes. There is a moment of quiet indecision.

"Yeah, she knew. Came up to me a few days before I moved out. Said I should tell you. I couldn't. So I left."

"You moved out because of me."

It's not a question. She doesn't need to reply, because I already know the answer.

Next door's cat mews at us, through the glass, framed black by orangey-sunset light. In the distance, a siren wails, and I wonder what poor soul needs its assistance.

The room is still. The kitchen tap is still dripping. I guess leaky plumbing stops for no one, for no reason- no matter how big.

"When I saw you with that guy... I knew that you wouldn't be interested. Girls that go out with guys don't like other girls, Konoka."

She shifts a little, runs her finger round the rim of a wet glass on her left hand side. It's not crystal, so it doesn't sing, just squeaks rather listlessly.

"I'm sorry 'bout what happened. I... just let myself go out of control. I want to say it's your fault for being so nice to me, for making me... making me love you, but I guess I just do, no matter whether you hate me or not. But you don't hate me," she whispers, and there is no hope in eyes that won't meet mine.

"You don't hate me. You're not that kind of person. You'll feel sorry for me, and be worried that I'm go to go through so many hardships because of what I am-"

"I think you should pull your head out of your ass."

It's funny seeing her confused, and I want to giggle, feel it tickling away in my throat, for that drop-jawed expression on Serious Setsuna's face. I don't though; we're having a heart-to-heart here and it would be entirely inappropriate.

"Don't make yourself out to be such a martyr. You're gay. So what? Like Asakura didn't make out with Sayo when they both got drunk at new years."

Her eyes say _what the hell are you talking about, woman? _and this time I do laugh.

"You're not the only one out there, Setsuna. So get over yourself."

She blinks. Then swallows. And then she's crying, sobbing, hiccuping great wet gulps of air, and I'm holding her –_so small-_ in my arms. The glass tumbles to the floor, bounces and rolls under the table. She snuggles into my neck, and I've never held someone smaller than me before. It's a little awkward, and her fingers are digging into my back, but I don't mind.

She cries. Cries some more. The cat leaves, comes back and the sky goes soft and blue and starry. The street lights come on, and the moths flit around them, diving through great swathes of light like bomber planes.

The kitchen light is off, and the room is dark when she stops crying.

I give her a little squeeze, and she squeezes back.

"Konoka," she says into my neck, and her voice is rough and croaky.

"Yeah?"

"...nothing."

Right now, she sounds beautiful.

* * *

"...and she told me that such deep-rooted feelings of inadequacy led to a transferral of your affection onto others, or me, resulting in a feeling of guilt after the consequences of said transferral made themselves felt."

"Riiiight... hey, you want potatoes in this?" she asks, waving said vegetable in an offhanded manner, and scattering drops of starch over the bench top.

"Mm. Yeah, about three should do it."

"Will do."

For a little while, there is only the sound of cooking here- just chopping and scraping and sizzling sounds, and no talking. Her back is to me, and I'm concentrating on salvaging the half-cooked mince, and we don't need to say anything just yet.

There is a certain type of quiet between us; not yet a comfortable, companionable quiet- we've said and done to many things for that peace to lie connecting her and I, but there is something that could, maybe, lead up to it.

"So... what else did Chizuru's mum say about me?"

"Nothing I didn't know. Except the sock puppet nightmares."

Her back stiffens.

"'Sock puppets'."

"Yep. She said you're deathly 'fraid of them."

The knife clunks down, and she looks at me, mouth twisting, eyebrows quirked, and says in a tone of absolute incredulity, "_Sock puppets?_"

I laugh, and it feels good to really laugh, let go of all the tense, bitter, angry feelings and just laugh until I'm sliding down the kitchen bench, the bubbling mince spitting sauce and meat juice over the stovetop, but not giving a damn.

She laughs, and slumps down to sit beside me.

Her knee grazes up against mine, her thighs bumping against my thighs, her side by my side, and our breathing together. We just laugh and breathe for a little bit, and after a while we go quiet again.

The mince is hissing away.

"It's ready. You can turn it off."

She does, reaches up, flicks the knob off, and as her hand comes down, she hesitates.

She goes all tense again. I don't like it. I pull her hand down, and settle her arm across my shoulders.

There is a pause.

"Konoka...?"

"It's okay. It's okay Set-Chan."

She gives a little inward-gasp, a little half-sigh, and her eyes close. Her head lays on my shoulder. This close, I can smell her shampoo.

"You haven't called me that since we were children."

"I know. But we're not kids any more."

She looks at me. I look at her. Her eyes close, and when they open, there is that pale flame, flickering, twisting, burning and something fizzes through my veins.

It feels good.

I kiss her.

It feels even better.

* * *

It's dark when they find us. I can't really move my arm a lot, and Asuna- she isn't moving.

I can hear them saying things, but only through a throbbing kind of noise in my ears, like I'm listening through water.

My face is wet and sticky. Asuna's face –_which she can barely, barely see if she strains her neck against the crushed-in seat, pushes against something sharp in her stomach which doesn't feel good at all-_ is dark with something I know daylight would show as red.

There is a grinding, metal-scream of a noise, and they peel the dashboard away from me.

It doesn't hurt to breathe now.

Someone shines a penlight in my eyes and I want to flinch away. I can't; it hurts too much.

"What's your name? Can you hear me? What's your name?" says a man my age, brown eyes worried, hands checking me over. There's blood on his nice white jacket. I feel kinda bad about it, and I try to say I'm sorry, but what comes out is:

"Akira. Akira, she's Asuna. We were going to my house, and, and, and-"

_Red light. Hole in the road. Bus with bad brakes, and screaming, screeching tyres-_

"Akira, it's going to be okay. An ambulance is coming. Hold on."

He takes my hand, my wet, sticky fingers, so cold in his warm, warm hand.

Asuna makes a noise as they pry her from twisted, wrecked metal. It's not a good noise.

It makes me want to be sick, but the man –the kind man who says to _hold on, Akira, we're gonna get you out of this_- gives my fingers a little squeeze.

The sky closes in on me, in a dark, tight circle. I want to stay focused on that face, but I can't see it anymore, and by the time I realise that, I'm already gone.

* * *

Another kiss. And another. And another, and another and another another _another_ until those kisses all blur into one.

I pull back. She smiles. Stolen kisses, taken without permission, without _wanting_ taste bitter, but this... she tastes real.

Her hair is long and mussed up and very soft, tangling around my fingers, smoothing rough skin on my palm.

"Konoka...?"

"We should have dinner. It'll go cold if we don't."

We get up. We cook. We eat, quietly, no talking, no touching. Just thinking.

_I love you. I want you. I think I need you, Konoe Konoka, if only just a little._

I want to speak that thought aloud, give it wings, watch it burst out and flutter around her, sink into her skin so she knows it right down to her bones. I don't, though. It's too clingy for where we are- there's not even a _we_, yet.

Yet. That's a hopeful thought, but with how she's looking at me, I don't want to push it away.

We finish, and she gets up, takes the dishes, and when she comes back, there is ice cream.

Peppermint. Cool, sweet, soaking into my lips.

"If you're wondering why I kissed you, it's because I wanted to. Not because I felt sorry for you."

She licks green milk from a metal spoon, flicking her tongue over it until it shines.

"And don't even go saying 'I didn't know you were like that', because maybe I am and maybe I'm not, or maybe I'm just me. I don't need a definition, Set-Chan. I just _am_." She's not looking at me, looking past me at that ridiculous dishwashing liquid ad on the TV, casting lurid pink shadows over the couch and clashing with the curtains.

"And if you thought about it in the right kinda way, maybe you'd see that about yourself too."

We're quiet again, and I finish my ice cream. She takes the bowl away from me, grabs my hands and stands me up. Her nose is slightly freckled and very cute. She looks at me over it, turning her head this way and that.

"You've got tear streaks on your face, and you still look a little sad. Just a little, though." She smiles. Her fingers are cool, and twist about mine. If I could, I'd tangle myself about her. "There's a good movie on. Watch it with me. We can do the dishes in the morning, when Asuna gets home."

I nod. We sit. The movie is good, although I don't take too much of it in.

Her fingers are tracing patterns on my leg.

I can't think about anything more than that.

* * *

"_You're listed on her primary emergency contacts, professor. That's why we called. Do you know who her next of kin is?"_

"_There isn't one. There's a distant cousin in Germany, but they don't speak."_

"_Would you wait for her then?"_

_He nods, and wonders why the Dean hasn't seen fit to take him off that list. Asuna's a grown woman now. She doesn't need him any more._

_But Takimachi sees that thought for what it is when he looks down at the little girl flying past him on a gurney, red hair crusted with something he doesn't want to think about and her right hand bell dented beyond repair._

_It probably won't ring again._

"_There are seats in the waiting room down the hall, professor. And we thank you for not smoking."_

_He nods again; doesn't feel like talking now that Akira's wheeled past him, in better shape but only just, parent running along beside._

_He isn't allowed past the swinging doors, and stops and watches the doctors wheel his daughter away._

_Takimachi looks at her father. Her father looks at him._

_Both men know their children are in pain. It isn't pleasant, but it's camaraderie all the same._

_They sit in a room with white walls, grey chairs and a broken vending machine._

_They wait. They take turns to sleep. Morning comes, and there is still no news._

* * *

It is dark; the room unlit, curtains drawn and door closing shut behind her. She jumps a little when wood meets jamb, and her eyes, pale smudges of ash, are clouded by drifting strands of her dark hair.

"Konoka." She says, and her hands are shaking just a little when they touch mine.

"Don't ask me, Setsuna. You already know."  
The apartment is quiet. There is no clock to tell the time from, but we both know it is late.

I don't know if this is a good idea; that is to say, I don't know if it is a good one, and I don't know if it is a bad one. It is an idea. Nothing less.

Her fingers grip mine a little harder. She pulls herself closer.

I know it will, very soon, be something more than an idea.

Her fingers slide up my arm, over my sleeve, brush my neck –_so faintly, feathering across skin she never knew could be so sensitive_, _that delicate touch so very powerful_- and slide down across me, trailing through the thin cloth of my shirt.

My stomach twitches, flips and I feel thin, transparent- as though this woman in front of me can see clear through me to the other side.

It is a familiar feeling, and not entirely uncomfortable; there is, at least, another person who knows me as well as myself.

One finger slips beneath the waistband of my skirt. The other curves around my hip. My hands are tracing patterns up her back, and I am not sure how they got there.

The moment, whatever it is, stretches out.

And then the clothes are falling away and the two of us are just lying on the slightly rumpled sheets of my half-made bed, her legs looped over and between mine; her mouth on the crook of my shoulder. My arms about her.

"I've wanted to hold you – just _hold_ you, for such a long time. I did not dream of this."

The words tickle my skin.

"Why?"

"Because if I dreamt it, I knew I would not be satisfied with just holding you." Her voice is rougher now, edges blurred and heavy with something like desire, and I find it smudges my words too.

"I never said all you could do is hold me."

Her hair slides along my shoulder, cool and soft. She shifts, leans over me, presses that mouth close to mine. Gently, and very quickly, she kisses me.

"For someone who's got me naked in their arms, you're being very chaste."

She laughs, and it isn't like any laugh of hers I've heard before, throaty and very much like sweet wine, heady to drink and, if savoured, leaving a warmth to tingle down to one's toes.

I feel the slow burn of her laugh trace its way down my body, and suddenly I don't want to be passive any more.

She makes a little sound when I flip her, and my thigh brushes against something wet. I move again, that slow stroking motion repeated, and feel her sweat under my palms. She shifts her shoulders. I don't lift my hands. That little sound is louder now, and louder again the third time.

"This morning, I hated you. By lunchtime, I pitied you –I admit it, Set-Chan, I won't deny it, and now... now I think I feel something different."

My mouth drops to hers, brushes it, half a kiss, and she arcs her neck to make it more. I stop just out of reach.

"I want to torture you, just a little. Let me," I whisper. Some part of me, possibly the part that thinks I am drunk, marvels at just how daring I feel, just how the blood in my veins is fizzing with wanting for something I never knew I could have. It doesn't stop me lowering myself, and dragging myself back up against those bucking hips, slowly scraping skin against skin. My thighs are wet, and she moans half in frustration and half in something like fear.

_No one's ever touched her like this_, I think and I know it's true. By all logic I should feel excited that I'm her first, but if anything, I'm nervous. I don't want to break her- and then I remember the sure determination of the hands pinned to her chest, those sure, wicked hands, teasing, coaxing, wringing pleasure out of me, drop by drop- and now I don't feel so nervous.

"...as I was saying, Set-Chan, I think... I think this whole... _mess_, if it has taught me anything, it's taught me this," and now I'm breathing the words across her soft, white skin just to watch her wriggle and twist beneath me, "if I can feel one way about you then, and one way about you now, and if even I can't tell when those different feelings blurred together, what's to say I haven't wanted to be with you all along?"

She thumps her head against the header board, and hisses a curse. Those eyes were closed, but now they're open and fixed on me. There's hunger in that look, hunger and a little sorrow and something like regret- but hope as well, and it's hope that makes those eyes burn.

"Kono-Chan?"

"Yes, Set-Chan?" and when she speaks, her voice is rich, and very full, brimming with something I don't understand. I can feel it, though, it hums along my spine, raises gooseflesh along my arms, tightens something hot and deep inside me.

"If you don't kiss me now... if you don't _let me kiss you_, I'll make you very, very sorry when your hands slip." She drags the words out, scrapes them over her mouth in that throbbing voice, dark words to counter pale eyes.

I let her kiss me. We tumble together, side by side, tangled on my bed.

It is a little awkward at first, a little fumbly, but by the time we work out where we're going, we're going there together and each frantic, aching touch brings us closer, closer.

Her forehead bumps against mine. My fingers scrunch into her back. She nips my ear, drags her teeth across the flesh of my neck.

The world gets smaller, slipperier, hotter- contracting about us. My left leg shakes over her hip and I find myself panting words that make no sense into short hair damp with sweat –mine? Hers? Ours?-, her hips buckling into a rhythm with mine. She screams. I forget to breathe.

I think I'm falling asleep, think I'm already gone, she's talking but I can't hear her-

Oh. She brushes a kiss against my mouth, half against my cheek. Her face is soft, warm, smooth, her nose behind my ear.

She's crying a little. I let her.

I don't know when, but sleep takes us both.

* * *

"_We're gonna miss you, Negi!" and her arms are about his thin neck. He's already overladen with bags, and stumbles back a little with her sudden weight._

"_Easy there, Konoka. He's only small, you don't want to overload him." Chuckles Setsuna, and helps pull the excited girl off him. Negi pushes his glasses straight on his nose._

"_I'm sorry Negi, but you've got to keep in touch, okay? You've got my email and Asuna's and if you don't write me an email at least once a week, I'll be very cross, okay?" She shakes her finger at him, and frowns crossly, although he laughs at her stern face._

"_I'll miss you too, Konoka. And you, Setsuna."_

_Setsuna nods, and smiles a little, not much for words and even less for goodbyes. They remind her too much of painful things she doesn't want to dwell on._

_But it's Asuna who's the saddest, her arms crossed and face so obviously fixed into the_ look-I-don't-care-about-you_ expression, whose eyes are tearing up._

_She sniffs a bit, which the other girls ignore for sake of politeness._

"_Uh, I gotta go to the bathroom. Setsuna, come with me so I don't get lost?" says Konoka, and though she knows what's really going on, the other girl nods._

"'_course. We'll be right back, you two!"_

"_Yeah, don't leave until we get back, 'kay Negi?"_

_And they leave, and then the two of them are just standing there. Negi fidgets a little, blushes a little more._

"_Asuna, I-"_

"_I'm gonna miss you, you little twerp," the girl says, and finds herself hugging him without quite knowing how."_

_He doesn't say anything, just wraps his arms about her. He's a little taller than her now, for all their talk about him being small; a little younger still for all he feels as old, if not older, than them all. Asuna makes a sound that could be a sob, and his fingers smooth down her hair. He flicks her bells, just to hear them jingle one more time, and, daring, presses a kiss to the top of her head. He doesn't think she notices, and feels a little sad to be holding her for the first time now, when it's going to be the last time ever._

_Quiet suddenly, she pulls back._

"_You've got your passport? And your bags? Chamomile's been sent ahead to quarantine?"_

"_Yes, Asuna. Three weeks ago. And my passport's in my top pocket."_

"_You've got your tickets? I hope you remembered to get them off the fridge."_

_A look of blank horror leads to patting down pockets, then frenzied relief when said precious pieces of glossy paper are found._

"_Thanks for scaring me like that, kid, I'm almost thought you were stuck with us for another week." She sniffs again, and wipes suspiciously wet eyes with her jumper sleeve._

"_Yes, Asuna," he says meekly, "sorry to have worried you."_

_And now the girls are back, and waving at him as he boards the plane, Konoka screaming "GOODBYE NEGI!" through the glass windows of the departure lounge, and he knows he won't forget them._

_Time passes, and though sometimes he forgets to reply to them, Asuna sends him an email every week._

**

* * *

**

It's going to be my birthday very soon, which means I will be busy. However, _Drink Me_ will be finished by Christmas.

Expect a two to three week break before the next post, though.

Thanks for reading!


	6. The Wounded Beauty

**DISCLAIMER**: Negima is not mine. If it were, Setsuna would have died from massive nasal blood-loss a looooong time ago...

**PREFACE: **Well. It's all over. Sorry for the delay, but I did manage to get it up and finished in the end.

That's all I have to say about it, really.

Thanks to all the readers and reviewers, readers who didn't review and anyone who gave this fic a casual glance. Thanks for all the support, messages, and 'PLEASE! MORE!'.

Thank you.

And now, please, read on.

* * *

**Drink me.

* * *

**

**Part VI: The Wounded Beauty

* * *

**

_There are two women lying here now. They are not dressed, and delicate hands slide over rounded hips with something less than haste._

_The room is calm. The air is thick with quiet, the absence of noise; a few hours ago a woman screamed (but not in pain) and now this is the aftermath._

_There is light threading the seams of windows, of doors, of a single bent shutter in the window blinds, falling on drowsy eyes._

_There is something like love in the room; something that, given time and care and regular water could easily blossom into it, send roots and vines to tangle and bind them both, not for eternity, for nothing ever lasts- but for long enough._

_It is uncertain as to whether they are asleep, have slept, or will sleep- this small dark room, littered with clothing and with tangled sheets seems a timeless place._

_Two women, one bed. It could be any bedroom anywhere, but it is this one, and that is why Setsuna (thin-boned hands tracing over soft, warm curves in slow satiation) is smiling._

_Her melancholy is gone. No emptiness now. Just this._

_And, oh, it is more satisfying then whisky could ever be._

* * *

It is very easy to talk over her; as though she, frail-bodied, bandaged-swathed and connected to various things that beep, did not exist at all. 

They didn't cut her hair. It is a relief.

"Takimichi? I'm taking Akira home. Uh," and the obvious relief in his face leaks away. His daughter is safe. Mine is not.

_...but she was never your daughter, was she, Takahata?_

I say something. It must have made sense to him. He leaves. Akira's wheelchair squeaks down the hall.

We are alone again; although I do not know if she realises I am here. How could I tell? They say she can hear me, and maybe she can, but I say nothing.

No matter what I ask, I don't think she'll answer.

(It will be four hours later, as pale sunlight streaks white walls with gilded, inappropriately bright pink, and the nurses will realise he has been here since sunset yesterday and is still here. They will attempt to convince him visiting hours are over. He will stand and stay and watch them through faded blue eyes that say more clearly than words _I am not leaving. This is my daughter. I will not leave her._ Later, one will bring him coffee; another, a blanket. He will settle in for the night and wonder why no one else is seated beside him.)

* * *

The problem with relationships, especially new ones, is that once you have waded through whatever shit you had to to get to the stage where what you have could be even _called _a relationship, you tend to forget the other people involved. 

Friends, family, co-workers, school-chums, all those other little people that aren't your girlfriend (and therefore, are not as important as her)that worked hard to get the two of you to stop making cow-eyes at each other and finally get your goddamn act together are suddenly... _inconsequential_. At least, inconsequential to the warmth of her smile, the brilliance of her eyes, and especially the throaty little moans she makes in the throes of passion.

And so, to you, they no longer exist. You gravitate around her, are pulled towards her, because by some incredible quirk of fate, she loves you.

And because that's how it is in any brand spankin' new relationship, for a few hours, the world revolves around this precious, impossibly dear, irreplaceable creature.

And then you get a phone call, and realise, quite suddenly, it doesn't.

"_Setsuna speaking," and Konoka giggles a little, traces her foot up her thigh and tries to steal the pancakes off her plate. Setsuna frowns a little, and tries to snatch them back._

"Setsuna? It's Takahata. I thought you should know..."

_And Setsuna goes still. Konoka stops, blinks and without even knowing looks at horrified eyes and bursts into tears._

"...ward 3-b, floor eight. Go to the nurse at the reception desk, and she should tell you where to go."

_Setsuna puts the phone down. She tries to tell Konoka why and where they have to go, but can't speak. There are no tears, at least not from her, and her hands are shaking enough to jitter against a glass and tip orange juice onto the carpet._

_It doesn't seem important. Nothing does, but catching the train that goes past the hospital._

-And just like that, you realise the world does not stop for those few moments you had; it goes on turning, regardless of whether you are ready for it to.

_

* * *

She's dreaming. There's a man next to her. He is holding her fingers, gripping them too tight for her little girl hands to feel comfortable with. There is another man, an older one, and he is dying in front of her. There's something through his middle that shouldn't be, and there is a lot of blood. On him, the floor, and on her hands._

_She doesn't feel scared though. He's smoking, and she knows she'll always remember the scent, old pine and tobacco, always, always, always, but she forgets it in the end though. Just like she forgets everything._

_He smiles a little, coughs a little more, and the cigarette wobbles between his lips, flickers out, and ashes puff out over his chest. Their little sparks hiss out in the blood._

"_Don't cry, princess. Eyes as beautiful as yours should never shed tears."_

_The man beside her proffers a trembling lighter. The dying man –Gateau, she remembers, if only for a few seconds, Gateau with the funny name- inhales just as shakily._

"_But, I don't want you to die-"_

"_All things do, little one. Even people. It's not scary though. Nothing to fear."_

_He smiles again, laughs, and this time the coughing is hard enough to tumble his cigarette to the dirt._

_There is a forest around them, and she wonders why she didn't see it before._

"_Nothing to fear. Takimichi, take her home. Take her someone she won't remember this. Please."_

"_Master, I-"_

"_I don't want her to see, Takimichi. Take her home."_

"_But, but I can't leave you-"_

"_NOW, boy," he barks, but his voice is too weak to sound gruff. He coughs again, wheezes, and his lips are stained dark and wet. The man beside her shudders a little, snatches her hand even tighter than before._

"_Come along, Asuna. Come along. It's time to go home."_

_She tries to look back, but he pulls her along too fast, and all there is back there is shadow anyway._

_The forest around them keeps getting blacker, blacker, and all she can feel is those fingers, clenched tight-_

"_It's time to go home..."_

* * *

The problem with being a friend and only a friend, and even then, not even a very important friend (_and that thought stings, it really does_) is that you are often never told anything. 

And even when you are, it is later than everyone else; an afterthought, as though you are some mere acquaintance.

The message is clear enough. _You were not important enough to her to be told._

Although that's the bitterness speaking, he knows, the bitterness at being the last in the know, and the terrible, crushing fear which grips his stomach, sinking claws into his flesh like some beast.

He is sitting in the airport. It is raining outside. He has, quite frankly, never been so terrified.

"_We only just found out, Negi. She's- well, I think you should come and see her. I can give you the money if you need it. If you, uh, can't afford tickets- Um. Just- just get here soon, okay? Please? She wants to see you, Negi."_

His boarding pass is crumpled and dotted with sweat, wrung between trembling hands too many times. The man seated by him shifts his paper, flicks to the business section and he can see on the back page that Manchester is still winning, even without Beckham, the traitor.

He tries to remember whether Anya knows how many pellets to give Chamo in the evening, and realises he is stalling. Not the trip, but the thinking about it.

It. _Her_. The knowledge that the fearsome, bold-hearted, sometimes foul-mouthed redhead might...

"_Flight G17 on Continental Air, flight G17 London to Tokyo boarding now. Please present your passes at the gates. Flight G17 London to Tokyo, boarding now."_

He packed so quick he's got nothing but the clothes on his back, just that and his passport and the ticket he spent his whole month-and-a-half of wages on.

_God, I'm going to starve unless I can beg leftovers off Anya when I get back._

If he gets back. He didn't even think to buy a return ticket.

"_Flight G17 London to Tokyo departing now. Thankyou for flying continental air. May your trip be as pleasant as having you on board with us."_

* * *

She wakes up, slowly, stiffly, aware that she should be hurting but somehow isn't. 

The common opinion of situations such as these is to sit up, groan and ask where you are.

She can't sit up, can't speak, can't move. There's a mask on her face, clear blue plastic in a dome over her mouth. She can feel a tube down her throat. It's not a good feeling, and she doesn't want to know how far down it goes.

Someone's sitting beside her. A sort of half-gasp wheezes from her with a sound like a dying squeaky-toy –_at least you haven't lost your weird sense of humour girl_, she thinks- and they look up.

She wasn't expecting to see glasses perched on a straight, British nose, nor tearful eyes clouded by tangled wisps of auburn hair.

"Asuna?"

_Negi? Oh, I bet Konoka called you. Goddammit. I didn't want you to see me like this..._

She can remember what happened. This bothers her. After waking with the dull aftertaste of medicine in her mouth and cold air hissing down the back of her throat, she should be a blessedly clean slate, unaware and peaceful. She is not.

She will not think about it, and ignores the shrill echo of Akira's scream, bouncing around in her dully aching skull. There is still no other pain than this, and that worries her a little.

His fingers close about her slack hand, resting loosely on the covers.

She knows, from experience, his hands are callused from the pen, fingertips hard from typing- long, slender, quick-moving fingers that type faster than she can follow.

She knows they are like that, rough boy-skin and callus. She does not feel them. He squeezes her fingers, and it is like a ghost of her dream, half-remembered in the artificial light.

She can't squeeze back. This sinks in, slowly, trickling down in chilled droplets through her mind. He's holding her hand so tight her fingers are white; it should hurt, sting, cramp her fingers and make them twitch, but her hand is slack and boneless in his.

She blinks, and it seems awfully slow, the world eclipsed by dull red darkness. She struggles to open her eyes again, and lies there, in the red-dark, listening to the strangled wheeze of her breathing. She swallows, reflexively, and her tongue brushes the side of the tube. It doesn't taste good.

"Asuna? Oh, Asuna..." his voice wobbles, quivers, and she can hear the faint squeak of a boy in that just-barely-a-man's voice. Her name trembles like a teardrop on his lips.

Her eyes stay closed. She wants to say something, but isn't sure what, doesn't even know if she can around the thing in her mouth.

The thought, half-formed, words unclear- whatever it was, it's gone now.

_Back to the forest,_ says another, ill-formed and drowsy thought, and before she can figure out why, the darkness gets deeper, and she's slipping away again...

* * *

"Bad things happen to good people. That's why," says Takahata, and drags deeper on a cigarette. They're outside, in the Children's Garden, according to the plaque on a bench, so a nurse walking past looks at them disapprovingly, but doesn't say anything. 

Not far from them, a little boy in a wheel chair laughs as he's pushed higher and higher on a specially adapted swing. The nurses and his parents smile.

"She was a good kid."

"Not was, professor," whispers Konoka. "_Is_."

He says nothing, just lets the smoke stream out, rising in lazy circles. It shouldn't be so sunny, but it is- early spring sunny, light still a little watery and thin, but sky blue enough to see the faint, puffy clouds that flit over them, casting weak shadows.

It's a nice day. Not beautiful, but a good enough day to be on a picnic, or at the park, or maybe even the beach. Setsuna leans against a wall and watches a girl with Down syndrome feed the ducks that gather at the pond, squawking for bread crumbs. Her carer guides her arms, and small lumps patter down over the water that laps at her slippers. She giggles.

Asuna's been asleep for three days now.

Negi's been sleeping on a camp bed in her room for four.

"_You said she wanted to see me. She's not even awake enough to tell I'm there at all, Konoka."_

"_Maybe, Negi, but I know if she were awake she'd want you there. If I were her, I would."_

"How's Akira?" says someone, and Setsuna realises it was her. Her voice sounds strange against the background noise from the play set.

"Okay. She's walking again at least. Might be a while before she goes in the water again though." says Konoka. Takahata says nothing, flicks his cigarette into a nearby bin, and shoves his hands into his coat pockets.

"She's not breathing on her own. The doctor said if they took out the tube, she'd suffocate."

Both girls are quiet. He is not looking at them.

"If she's not breathing on her own after the surgery, they want-"

"Don't say it professor. I don't- I don't want to think about that just yet," and Konoka's standing up, hands twisting the corners of her jacket. "Not yet. I can't," and then she's running off.

Setsuna stands still for a little while, shifting from foot to foot.

"Go on. She's your girlfriend. Don't stay on account of me."

She's running too, calling out, and then he is alone. He stares at the ducks, the girl, the pond for a little while, then sits down on the bench.

He flips his cigarette lighter between his fingers. There's a picture of her in his wallet. He doesn't take it out. He doesn't need to see that worn piece of paper to know what she looked like as a little girl. He can see her, clearly enough, if he closes his eyes...

Behind him the girl laughs and flings the last crumbs up, sending the ducks into a frenzy.

The sound of wings beating the air does nothing to comfort him.

* * *

"Konoka, please- Slow down!" and she's dodging nurses, twisting past people in wheelchairs, stumbling over a pair of leftover crutches in the waiting room- 

The glass doors a blur as she ducks through a half-closed gap-

And there's Konoka, in the sunlight, crouching down. She's crying, the kind of shivery, hiccuping sobs that won't stop until all the tears are squeezed out, leaving you dry and empty.

"Konoka," she murmurs, and that's all she can say, pulling the woman up and into her arms.

She cries harder. They stand still in the car park of Mahora Community Hospital, squeezing tight to one another.

Setsuna wants to cry too, but doesn't cause she's scared she won't stop.

Her lover's hands are clutching hers, clutching them as though if she let go, she would fall.

The world moves around them, dragging them with it; Setsuna doesn't want to go forward, she wants to go back to a few days ago, to that timeless dark room, and the soft whispers of this woman against her skin.

But she can't. The world doesn't work like that. It's unfair, but most things are.

"Set-Chan, I don't want her to die."

_No one does, _she thinks, but Konoka's not finished yet.

"These past couple of weeks have been really... shitty, you know? I mean, not that getting together with you wasn't- um," and she tilts her head back, bites her lips, and there's a little smile through the tears, "but... the whole, you know, you-love-me-and-then-runaway thing, and the yelling and the fighting with, with Asuna," and her voice wobbles, and tears start up again, "and the fighting with you –I don't want to ever fight you again, Set-Chan, not ever- and the car crash- sometimes I think my life is a soap opera, and not a good one at that."

She sniffs a bit, wipes her nose on her sleeve, and leaves one hand to tangle with Setsuna's.

"Why... why does stuff like this happen? I mean, I was happy a little while ago. Not as happy as I was five days ago, but still happy. Why does... why doesn't it –time, the world, whatever- just stop and stay with all the good things? Why does stuff like this have to happen?"

"I don't know. I don't think anyone does." Says Setsuna, but she is lying. It's for Konoka's own sake, really.

They are quiet, and watch an ambulance pull up, and a heavily pregnant woman is wheeled past them on a trolley, screaming "I'm going to kill you, Hiro, for doing this to me!"

The husband, obviously Hiro and quiet frightened, runs up the steps lugging a large suitcase.

There is a flustered moment where he can't get the bag through the doors, and then they are alone again. The ambulance drives around to the back of the hospital.

_It's because, when you get down to it, you –me, you, anybody- aren't important. No one is, even the people that do great things, and especially not the people who just live their lives the best they can._

_Nothing matters in the end. Not love, not peace, not the little things we do, every day, to make the world better._

_There's no such thing as fair, there's no such thing as good. All of the dramas that we go through have no effect on anything at all._

_The world just is. That's all, when it comes down to it._

It was a lonely thought, and that was why she didn't share it. Important or not her Konoka (_and even now, even in a place like this, there's a little thrill in her stomach when she thinks _her_ Konoka_) is, at heart, a good person; she won't sadden her by speaking that thought, true or not, aloud.

"Set-Chan?"

"Yes?"

"I love you. Don't ever leave me."

"I love you too. And I'll try not to."

Konoka sighs, and her eyes are dry now. "Good."

* * *

When we get back, Chisame is standing there; looking embarrassed to be caught holding a bunch of flowers. Daffodils, to be exact. 

"Those must've been hard to find," says Negi softly.

"Look kid, I didn't buy these. Um."

"It's okay," says Konoka, and smiles weakly.

"Listen, I didn't buy them alright? It's just... I'm in her Digital Media class, and some of the other girls are, and we'd all heard about..." she trails off a little, plays with the flowers, brushing shaky fingers over soft, yellow petals, "...and we thought, you know, we'd pool our spare change and get some flowers or something and, well, I drew the short straw to bring them. No more than that. I mean, it's not like I'm her friend or anything."

There is a beat of silence. Negi smiles, though his fingers are twisting his glasses round and round between them. "There's a vase in the corner."

"Thank you." Says Chisame, and it's very quiet and so is she. She moves past the bed, past Asuna, be-tubed and all, and slide the flowers from their cheap plastic wrapping as silently is possible, despite the crinkly cellophane. Arranged in the vase, they catch the lazy afternoon sunlight warmly, casting faint, buttery shadows over the sill.

"They're beautiful," I say, because no one else can speak.

Chisame flushes, and scratches her nose. "Whatever. I gotta go. Classes. Um. Tell her... tell her I hope she's feeling better when she wakes up," she blurts in one long stream, and uncomfortable to be caught caring about another person, darts out.

Negi smoothes Asuna's covers, and rolls her limp fingers between his.

"Yeah, beautiful." He says, and there's something a lot like defeat in his voice. I want to ask whatever happened to keeping his chin up, British high hopes and all that, but what do you do when someone you care about lives half a world away and you can do little but be there for them after the bad things happen?

In an ideal world, he would've been here at the start of this whole debacle.

"Don't worry Negi. She'll be okay," says Konoka, and wraps her arms around him.

I don't want to think about it if she isn't telling the truth.

* * *

The professor drives us back to the apartment- I said Negi could crash here, and crash he does, tumbling down onto the couch like a puppet with it's strings cut. He's asleep before I can cook dinner; Set-Chan lays a blanket over him, and shuffles his legs along the couch so he won't wake up with cramps. It's a small couch, and he's a tall boy; his hands hang down to drag on the floor. 

We cook, we eat, and go to bed. We leave a small covered plate for him in the fridge. He'll be hungry later.

I'm lying in the dark, tangled in her arms, feeling the jumping pulse beneath my hand on her left breast.

"The operation's tomorrow," I say, if only because it's too quiet. I can hear Negi's genteel snores if I listen hard enough.

"Yeah." She whispers, her lips warm on my neck. "She'll be okay, Konoka. Asuna's a tough one."

I thread my fingers through her too-short hair.

The TV in the apartment below us is very loud. If I listen hard, I can hear the midnight soap-opera special on channel 45 playing.

"Do you think Takahata will be there when we go see her tomorrow?" she murmurs, half muffled by my shoulder.

"'Course. She's his little girl. He wouldn't _not_ be there."

There is another quiet between us, _that_ question on our lips, one we daren't ask. It's pressing against my mouth, but I don't say it.

Nevertheless, it bounces around in the darkened room. Eventually, Setsuna answers it.

"She's not going to die, Kono-Chan. Asuna... she wouldn't let something like this, some stupid accident beat her."

She rubs her face against my shoulder, shifts herself about a little, and makes the lean body curled around me comfortable.

"_She's not gonna die before I say sorry."_

The last a whisper. I'm not sure I was meant to hear it.

"Goodnight," I whisper back.

There's no answer. She's already asleep.

* * *

"_Ask not for whom the bell tolls, hey princess?"_

_She's dreaming, again, and the man seated next to her looks very like Negi. This is important, though she can't tell why._

"'_m Nagi," he says, in an English voice, and though she can't speak the language too well, here she understands perfectly. He proffers a hand. They shake, and even in the dream, his hands are warm._

"_I'm Asuna."_

"_Of course you are, princess. I'd never forget your face, not in a million years."_

_She looks at him, slowly, and decides that, as far as dreams go, this one is too strange to bother remembering when she wakes up._

_There is a window by her side, and though the landscape is unclear, it flits by with enough speed to tell her she's moving._

"_A car?"_

"_A train. Didn't think I'd be seeing you here for a few decades more at least."_

What does a girl say to that_, she thinks, and starts a little as he opens a suitcase she didn't know he had._

"_Apple?"_

"_Um. Yes, thankyou."_

_She holds it on her lap, and wonders why she's back in her junior high uniform._

"_Um, Nagi-san-"_

"_-just 'Nagi', kiddo," he corrects her, "and don't forget to eat it now."_

"_-Nagi, why, exactly, am I here?"_

_He turned away for a minute to take a pear from the suitcase, and laid it on the floor at the feet._

"_Well, think of it this way. You caught a train you weren't meant to get on for a while yet. You can't turn the train around. However, you can get off at the next stop, and catch a train back to the station where you started out. Am I making sense so far?"_

"_Um, yes?"_

"_Okay, stop me if I'm going to fast, princess. Anyway, you can catch a connecting train back, like I said, but time will have passed while you were gone on your," he grinned at her then, and the expression was childish and very familiar, "unexpected trip. Things might be a little different then they were when you left."_

_He crunched his way into his pear then, dripping juice onto his fingers. "'scuse me," he murmured around a mouthful of fruit and wiped his fingers on the leather seat._

"_What happens if I don't get off the train?"_

"_That's the question, isn't it? If you don't get off now, who knows what you'll find when you pull into the final station?"_

_There was a pause. She turned the apple around in her hands, stroking her fingers over its slightly bumpy skin._

"_This is some sort of complicated metaphor for death, isn't it?"_

_He shrugged._

"_Maybe, maybe not. All I know is, I got my ticket punched, and there's no way I'm getting off now. And I wouldn't mind such lovely company as yourself."_

_He winked, and the gesture was familiar and cheeky enough to hotten her face._

"_But I don't have a..." she stopped then, and found the non-existing ticket in question, right in her hands where the apple had been._

"_How does that work? You've already eaten yours!"_

_Nagi shrugged._

"_I don't make the rules, sweetheart. I'm just here for the ride."_

_She put the ticket on the seat beside her._

"_How far is it till the next station?"_

"_Two days trip. 'Course, time flies here. You've got twenty minutes 'til you can get off, love."_

_The ticket was smooth, and shiny, and though her name was embossed neatly on the pass, the destination details were hazy._

"_What if I change my mind?"_

"_Well, you can always get off at another stop. Mightn't be the station you expected though."_

"_Reincarnation?"_

"_Yup."_

If I don't get off... well, there's lots of things I haven't done yet. Like my term paper. And... getting a date for Tanabata. But, there's lots of things I want to do... and things I have to deal with.  
Setsuna. Konoka. My god.

_And that was a tangle of thorns right there. One that, if she got involved, she could be pricked by._

"_Um. How long till one of those other stations...?"_

_She was surprised to see a hint of sternness creep into amiable eyes._

"_Really? I never picked you for a quitter, princess."_

* * *

She wakes. It is only for a moment, some mere slice of time, but it is enough to see those unfocused, heterochromatic eyes. 

_A genetic trait. Mother or father?_ Thinks the anaesthetist, but then he's guiding the mask back over her face before he has time to ponder the inheritance of those peculiar eyes.

She blinks, dazed. Her eyes close, slow enough for him to hold the mask a little longer.

Another blink, a sweep of lash to cheek, and a soft beep from the monitor tells him she's under.

_I wonder if her parents are pacing outside._

He hopes so. Shame for someone so young to be alone like this...

"Alright doctor, what are we doing first?"

"Tracheal incision. Scalpel please, nurse."

"On it." The woman pauses, and lowers her mask.

"You can leave now, Dr. Fujiwara, if you like. I'm able to monitor her for the rest of the procedure."

"If you're sure, nurse..."

He glances back at the patient as he leaves. Her hair is tied back neatly, and her hands resting at her sides. She's asleep, and perhaps her dreams are peaceful.

He hopes they are pleasant. After all, there's a good chance she won't wake from them.

_There is_, he thinks as he makes the short trip to the doctor's lounge, _no worse fate than to be trapped in a bad dream._

* * *

We wait. The seconds are dripping past. We could've left home later, but I don't think either Set-Chan or Negi could handle hanging around at home. 

I've been to hospitals before, so I guess I'm used to it, especially this hospital.

The children's wing is named after my mother.

After an hour of deadening, spirit-dulling, almost quiet, Negi pacing to-and-fro, the professor speaks up.

"Stop pacing, Negi. You'll wear a track in the carpet."

"I know, I know, but I-"

Takahata sighs, chewing on a pen in lieu of a cigarette.

"Look. Asuna'd not want you stressing out like this."

He rolls the pen between his fingers before throwing it in the bin in disgust.

"I've known her longer than you, kid, and I can tell you she's a tough girl-"

"_Everyone's known her longer than me!"_ hisses Negi, words strangled and strained through clenched teeth.

"I know that," he whispers, hands stilling from scrunched fists. "I know. I'm not important to her, not really, even though I want to be."

We're quiet, all of us, even the nurse who stuck her head 'round the door to see what the commotion is.

"Negi," says Set-Chan, standing up, hands reached out, "I think I know _exactly_ how you feel."

He's crying. I feel like I'm intruding now as she takes him in her arms, rocks him side to side and lets him sob himself out.

"You never know, Negi. You are _always_ more important than you think you are."

She's looking at me now. Her eyes are soft, pale; there are no chips or cracks the way there was a few weeks ago.

Takahata's shifting awkwardly in the seat across from me, and Negi sniffling and sobbing and saying "but how do I _know_?" and none of it matters.

Not even Asuna for just a few seconds.

And then the door opens and outcomes the chief surgeon, and she stops being the most important thing in my life.

No. That's not true. She still is.

Just for now, though, I have to put other people before her.

* * *

"Someone told me they never figured me for a quitter," she whispers, in that cracked, dry voice. 

A nurse presses a straw between her lips, and she drinks, slowly and laboriously. When she speaks again, her voice isn't as cracked.

"I don't know who they were. I think I met them before, though."

Asuna shifts her head, and is admonished by the nurse.

Her throat is papered with dull, creamy bandages. There is a tube in her nose, and her eyes are dull in hollow cheekbones.

She still looks beautiful to me.

Not as beautiful as she is usually, and especially not as radiant as when she's yelling at me, luminous with fury, but I'm sure she'll lapse into a rage soon enough.

"That's enough, sweetheart. You need to rest."

"Nurse, I don't-" and she rolls her head sideways, and shudders a little. Her pulse jumps beneath her bandages.

"Sleep, Kagurazaka-san, or I will fetch the doctor."

Nurse Itsue, name-badge glistening in the dim light from shuttered windows, hands clasped about her trolley turns stern, be-glassed eyes on me.

"That goes for you too, young man."

I don't want to go. I want to stay. I want to crawl into the narrow bed next to her, bundle myself about her, and go to sleep.

But I leave. She's alive. She won't be going anywhere, probably because of the vaguely frightening nurses that attend her.

There will be time later.

"Negi," she says, barely above a whisper, "come visit me tomorrow."

I nod. She smiles.

She's asleep before the nurse shoes me out the door.

* * *

It takes her twelve days to leave hospital, and it takes me fifteen to apologise, hesitantly and very ashamed. I haven't felt so guilty for quite some time. 

She brushes it off, but there's something a little fragile in her eyes now.

It's not there when Negi looks at her, so maybe it'll work out.

He goes home twenty-three days after she leaves hospital. He comes back four days later, with a working visa.

We get our results back seventeen days after that, the day we see Akira walking, unsteadily but proudly, by the pool at the rec centre.

The daffodils have long wilted. People are talking to us in class again, and Asuna is pissed that both Konoka and I passed –my grades lower than Kono-Chan's but still significantly higher than Asuna's- and she needs to repeat four of her seven exams.

Chao got top of the year, and was bustled into a master's program. No surprise there.

Mana still goes to the shooting range on Tuesday, Yue still hosts the Philosophical Youth Club on Thursday nights, and Asakura is persuaded quietly but very violently to let the matter of our brawl in the park drop.

Fifty-six and a half days after the accident, I go out on my first date.

We meet Negi and Asuna at the movie theatre by pure coincidence.

We all agree to go to separate films.

_She's sitting in the popcorn-smelling dark, Godzilla tromping through Tokyo for possibly the twenty-second consecutive showing._

_Konoka passes her a stick of pocky, and, hands sticky with strawberry flavouring, tangles her fingers through Setsuna's._

_She smiles. In the poorly-lit gloom, no-one could see, even if they didn't have the whole cinema to themselves._

_On screen, Mothra is roasted to a crisp, and stomped on by a man dressed in a cheap lizard suit. Konoka giggles as she points out the seams.

* * *

_

_Life isn't perfect, never will be perfect, but right here and now, Setsuna finds that hard to believe._

_

* * *

_

**Fin.**


End file.
